LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


System's  Hand 


by 
Mary  Tapper  Jones 


CHICAGO,  ILL.,  1920 

Mid-W«»t  Publishing  &  Producing  Co., 
Inc. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyrighted  1920  by 

Mid- West  Publishing  and  Producing  Co. 
Inc. 

Chicago,  Illinois. 
All  Eights  Reserved. 


Printed  in  the  U.  S.  of  America 


PREFACE 

"The  System's  Hand"  is  a  story  pure  and 
simple,  but  a  story  founded  011  facts.  No 
attempt  is  made  to  mold  public  opinion. 
Conditions  are  revealed  as  they  existed  and 
as  they  still  exist. 

If  I  have  told  too  much  and  laid  bare 
truths  that  have  thus  far  been  carefully  con 
cealed  and  the  reader  is  horrified,  I  am  sorry, 
but  I  would  warn  him  that  in  this  book  we 
are  just  starting  out  on  a  journey  and  in 
the  volumes  following  there  are  many  miles 
yet  to  go.  I  trust  that  he  will  courageously 
go  with  me  to  the  end. 

The  Author. 


This  book  is  written  by  Mary 
Tupper  Jones  in  collaboration 
with  Stephen  A.  Doyle.  Fiction 
is  used  to  present  facts  in  an  en 
tertaining  form. 

It  is  endorsed  by  John  Fitz- 
patrick,  President  of  the  Chicago 
Federation  of  Labor,  and  by 
Duncan  McDonald,  President  of 
the  Illinois  State  Federation  of 
Labor.  It  will  be  endorsed  by  all 
honest  employers  of  labor. 

Many  other  endorsements  and 
the  support  and  supervision  of 
well  known  labor  men  are  a 
criterion  that  the  purpose  of  this 
book  is  absolutely  honest,  and 
that  it  is  produced  as  an  educa 
tional  effort. 


THE  SYSTEM'S  HAND 

By 
MARY  TUPPER  JONES 


CHAPTER  I. 

"There  are  two  things  of  which  I  am  cer 
tain,"  wrote  Kant,  the  philosopher,  "the 
starry  heavens  and  the  moral  law." 

Looking  back  over  a  life  so  filled  with 
tragedy  as  to  make  of  me  an  old  man  before 
my  time,  I  seem  to  focus  on  a  certain  autumn 
morning  in  the  year  1878,  when  I,  the  boy, 
Stephen  Angus  Doyle,  just  turned  nine,  and 
whose  head  had  always  been  up  in  the 
clouds,  came  to  a  sudden  and  full  realization 
of  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong. 

Driving  the  cows  to  and  from  pasture,  I 
had  wondered  at  the  mystery  of  the  pale 
grey  dawn,  and  the  marvel  of  the  sunset 
glow.  The  faint  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  to  this 
day  brings  back  to  my  mental  vision  great 
stretches  of  timothy  land  with  the  moon 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

shining  on  it,  and  a  wistful-eyed  boy  leaning 
against  a  barn  door,  dreaming. 

On  this  particular  autumn  morning,  my 
Scotch  mother  turned  to  my  Scotch-Irish 
father  and  showed  him  some  scraps  of  paper 
in  her  hand,  and  they  spoke  to  each  other 
in  Gallic,  while  all  the  time  I  wept  unre 
strainedly. 

"Why  are  you  crying,  son?"  asked  my 
father. 

"Don't  put  them  in  jail,"  was  all  that  I 
could  stammer. 

Then  my  stern  yet  kindly  father  smiled 
his  slow,  sweet  smile  and  said. 

"Suppose  you  quiet  yourself  and  tell  us 
all  about  it,  Stephen." 

I  made  an  effort  and  began. 

"You  know  father  how  you  thought 
sailors  had  robbed  Graham's  store.  Well,  I 
know  it  was  some  of  our  own  town  boys, 
for  I  found  all  these  fresh  tobacco  tags  and 
candy  wrappers,  now  in  mother's  hand,  by 
the  creek,  when  I  took  the  cows  to  water, 
and  sailors  would  never  be  crossing  there. 
It  was — "  but  tears  again  choked  me. 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Father  nodded — he  knew  of  whom  I  was 
speaking,  and  then  I  weakly  added,  "  Don't 
arrest  them,  please." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  my  life's  work. 

I  became  one  of  the  most  noted  detectives 
in  America,  but  the  heart  of  that  little  child 
crying  out  in  his  Nova  Scotia  home  grew 
also,  and  the  soul,  reaching  out  beyond  the 
old  harbor-town,  refused  to  be  crushed  when 
it  later  found  itself  confronted  with  the  hor 
rors  of  "The  System's  Hand." 

And  today,  when  I  see  young  people  flung 
into  juvenile  prisons,  or  so-called  reform 
schools,  thus  started  on  the  downward  path, 
I  recall  how  my  father,  who  was  the  con 
stable  of  the  county,  sought  these  two  youth 
ful  robbers,  orphans  both  of  them,  and  on 
mischief  bent,  and  how  he  talked  to  them, 
and  made  them  repair  the  damage  done,  and 
how  they  grew  up  into  useful  citizens,  and 
I  realize  how  human-nature  is  the  one  thing 
that  has  not  changed  with  all  the  years.  The 
children  of  the  late  seventies  up  there  in  the 
Canadian  country  are  the  same  boys  and 
girls  we  see  now,  crowded  almost  to  suffoca- 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

tion,  on  Chicago's  great  West  Side,  playing 
and  fighting  in  a  dozen  different  tongues, 
edging  their  way  into  picture-shows,  push 
ing  into  grimy  little  candy-shops  and  often 
sore  put  to  it  to  find  an  extra  penny. 

Poor  little  things.  The  odds  are  all 
against  them.  In -most  cases  their  mothers 
had  to  stand  in  some  shop  or  factory  up  till 
the  very  moment  of  their  birth.  They  have 
scarcely  ever  known  what  it  is  to  have  a 
square  meal,  or  enough  clothes  on  when  the 
snow  comes  drifting  down;  but  the  great 
fact  remains  that  they  are  here.  They  have 
been  buffeted  about  by  meddlesome  charity 
officials,  hustled  through  a  few  grades  of 
politically  controlled  public  schools,  where 
they  received  a  lot  of  mis-information  and 
all  the  diseases  known  to  childhood,  and 
finally  dumped  back  into  the  reservoir  of 
America's  melting-pot, — the  street.  Yet, 
looking  into  their  old-world  eyes,  you  catch 
something  of  the  vision  that  has  sustained 
the  foreign  people  down  through  all  the  ages 
— the  endurance  that  has  out-lasted  pain, 
the  hope  that  no  poverty  has  ever  crushed. 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

My  fourteenth  year  found  me  in  the  lum 
ber  mills  of  Minnesota,  at  the  head  of  Knife 
Falls  on  the  St.  Louis  river.  I  had  always 
been  ambitious  to  make  my  own  way  in  the 
world,  and  was  the  first  of  a  large  family  of 
boys  to  leave  home.  My  work  in  the  mills 
consisted  of  trimming  lumber.  At  this 
dangerous  occupation  I  stood  for  twelve 
hours  at  a  time,  catching  the  timber  with 
my  hands  as  it  came  towards  me  on  the  end 
less  chains,  and  at  the  same  time  stepping 
quickly  on  the  saw  with  my  feet. 

The  bad  water  which  we  had  to  drink 
brought  on  typhoid  fever,  and  while  slowly 
convalescing  from  this  illness,  I  had  time 
to  overhear  much  of  the  talk  of  older  em 
ployees.  Many  things  that  to  them  were 
inexplicable,  were,  to  me,  owing  to  my  early 
environment,  at  least  partially  clear.  It  was 
at  this  period  that  I  got  my  first  insight  into 
the  place  a  detective  holds  in  a  big  corpora 
tion. 

As  a  child  I  had  often  heard  my  father 
speak  of  Scotland  Yard,  and  I  imbibed  the 
idea  that  to  be  a  detective  meant  something 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

very  fine.  It  appealed  to  me  as  a  life  of 
service,  that  was  the  way  the  people  re 
garded  the  calling  in  the  colonies  and  in 
England,  but  fate  took  me  to  the  United 
States  to  work  out  my  destiny,  and  the  day 
came  when  I  turned  with  such  loathing  from 
the  work  that  I  had  chosen  that  it  was  as  if 
I  had  crawled  out  of  a  nest  of  writhing 
serpents. 

At  the  Richmond  Lumber  Company  where 
I  was  employed,  two  men,  by  the  names  of 
Clark  and  Wallace,  were  sent  out  by  the 
firm  in  the  capacity  of  walking  bosses.  This 
meant  that  they  were  to  go  about  the  woods 
and  locate  valuable  timber  lands.  The  gov 
ernment  had  barred  the  monopoly  of  such 
land  by  individual  corporations  and  they  set 
about  to  overcome  this  obstacle.  This  was 
accomplished  by  inducing  aliens,  mostly 
from  Canada,  to  pre-empt  one  hundred  and 
sixty  acres  each.  The  firm's  representatives 
knew,  of  course,  that  it  was  not  possible  for 
any  but  full-fledged  American  citizens  to 
take  up  these  homesteads,  but  the  aliens 
didn't  know  the  law  upon  the  subject.  On  a 

10 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

certain  day  they  found  themselves,  in  a 
darkened  room,  compelled  to  sign  papers 
which  they  could  not  see  to  read.  At  the 
expiration  of  a  few  months,  so-called  secret 
service  men,  saying  they  were  representing 
the  government,  were  introduced  into  the 
scene,  and  I  think  the  first  thing  I  realized 
about  a  detective  was  that  he  must  be  a 
pretty  good  actor.  These  fellows,  playing 
the  part,  told  the  hard-working  mill-hands 
that  they  were  not  legally  entitled  to  the 
land,  that  they  had  committed  perjury  in 
taking  it  up,  and  that  their  documents  were 
worthless.  Here  the  men  sought  Wallace, 
who  had  gotten  them  to  sign  the  papers,  and 
told  him  the  situation.  Wallace 's  reply  was, 
* '  The  secret-service  men  are  right.  You  had 
better  strike  for  the  tall  timber  at  once." 
He  then  conveyed  to  them  the  impression 
that  he  was  going  to  do  them  a  favor  by 
letting  them  have  the  pay  due  them,  without 
the  usual  twenty-five  per  cent  discount, 
which  was  customary,  when  an  employee 
wras  forced  to  draw  his  earnings  before  the 
logging  season  terminated. 

11 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"What  of  our  land?"  cried  the  men. 

Wallace  laughed.  "Why,  you  have  no 
land,  and  what's  more,  you  stand  in  danger 
of  prosecution." 

What  was  left  for  the  men,  frightened  and 
discouraged,  but  to  strike  indeed  for  the  tall 
timber. 

On  a  dreary  day,  in  early  winter,  I  saw 
about  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  my  fellow- 
workmen,  fine,  up-standing  lads,  who  had 
thought  they  were  laying  the  foundations 
of  little  homes,  turn  from  their  work  and 
sadly  disappear  into  the  woods.  I  have  seen 
many  instances,  in  the  years  that  followed, 
of  masses  of  human-beings,  driven  like 
dumb  cattle,  but  nothing  ever  touched  me 
more  deeply  than  the  sight  of  these  young 
exploited  mill-hands,  a  haunted  look  in  their 
eyes,  going  slowly  into  the  heart  of  the 
forest.  They  were  branded  by  their  associ 
ates,  who  were  entirely  ignorant  of  the  state 
of  affairs,  as  fugitives  from  justice,  when,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  signatures  that  they 
trustingly  put  to  those  papers,  in  that  dark 
ened  room,  were  not  affixed  to  final  proofs 

12 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  to  pre-emption  papers  alone,  but  to 
deeds  and  mortgages  conveying  the  land  to 
the  Richmond  Lumber  Company. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  the  boy  Earl 
came  into  my  life.  Such  a  little  rough-neck 
as  he  was.  When  I  see  him  today,  leading 
thousands  of  men  and  women  by  the  very 
force  of  his  indomitable  personality  and 
making  history  in  the  New  National  Labor 
Party.  I  remember  the  first  time  I  ever  saw 
him.  He  was  lying  in  a  ditch  where  he  had 
fallen  from  the  top  of  a  freight  car,  when 
trying  to  beat  his  way  to  the  coast.  " Going 
West,"  he  muttered,  as  I  bent  over  him  and 
felt  for  broken  bones.  He  must  have  been 
about  twelve  at  this  time,  but  he  had  already 
felt  the  pressure  of  the  iron  heel  on  his  neck, 
and  was  struggling  to  get  out  from  under. 
Literally  a  child  of  the  people  he  had  known 
the  sufferings  of  the  oppressed.  Often  he 
used  to  tell  me  of  the  days  when  he  and  his 
little  brothers  and  sisters  begged  in  vain  for 
a  crust  of  bread,  and  how  his  mother  would 
bow  her  head  in  her  apron  and  sob  bitterly 
because  she  had  nothing  to  give  her  starving 
brood. 

13 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Somehow  or  other,  I  got  the  cut  and 
bruised  boy  to  my  mill  boarding  house, 
which  was  a  structure  of  rough  boards.  The 
small  portion  which  I  called  my  room  con 
tained  a  narrow  cot,  bench  and  board  shelf. 
For  several  days  Earl  was  delirious  and 
during  that  time  I  heard  many  strange 
phrases  concerning  "  grease-monkey s"  and 
"screw-boys."  In  the  period  that  followed, 
when  he  was  able  to  sit  up  and  talk  ration 
ally,  I  got  my  first  glimpse  of  that  great 
body  of  Labor  which  is  organized,  and  I 
began  to  sense  something  of  the  psychol 
ogy  of  the  strike. 

"We  pulled  one,"  Earl  said  to  me  once. 
"That  was  when  I  was  only  ten,  too." 

With  that  flame  in  his  voice  and  eyes  that 
one  always  notes  in  the  born  orator,  he 
curled  up  on  the  blankets  and  began: 

"Steve,  what  show  has  a  guy  got  in  one  of 
them  hellholes  in  the  big  steel-mills  of  the 
East,  if  he  and  the  rest  of  the  fellows  don't 
stick  together?  Us  boys  was  a- working 
twelve-hour  shifts,  that's  one  for  the  day 
and  one  for  the  night,  and  gee,  but  it's  hard 

14 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

keeping  awake  and  working  at  night.  Girls 
have  to  do  it  too.  Some  of  them  are  so  little 
that  they  have  to  stand  on  boxes  to  be  tall 
enough  to  brand  tin  plates.  But  there  was 
about  sixty  of  us  boys  getting  five  cents  an 
hour  for  greasing  the  necks  on  the  cold  rolls, 
and  them  straw-bosses  never  intending  to 
pay  us  a  cent  more,  but  we  seen  how  the 
skilled  workers,  over  in  the  hot-mills  depart 
ment,  by  joining  together,  and  having  com 
mittees  to  represent  them,  got  big  money, 
compared  to  the  rest  of  us  poor  guys,  so  I  up 
and  told  the  fellows,  when  the  boss  wasn't 
around,  and  when  he  was,  we  talked  in  hog- 
latin,  that  we  must  get  together  somehow 
and  ask  the  superintendent  for  a  raise. 

"  After  talking  things  over,  they  chose  me 
and  Kelly  Ryan  and  Bill  Louis  to  go  and 
hand  our  little  line  of  dope  to  the  main  gink. 
We  marched  right  up  to  the  office.  Kelly 
was  kinda  skeered,  and  Bill  was  a-shaking, 
though  he  laughed  sort  of  careless,  but  me? 
I  was  having  the  time  of  my  life.  I  knew 
all  we  needed  was  a  little  spunk,  and  we'd 
land  the  raise.  Frightening  the  wits  out  of 

15 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

you  is  the  way  them  bosses  figure  they  can 
keep  a  guy  what's  working  for  them,  always 
down  and  out.  When  we  got  to  the  door  of 
the  office  I  cut  out  knocking  and  walks  right 
in.  Gee,  you  should  a  seen  that  gink's  mug 
when  he  seen  us  kids  all  covered  with  grease, 
just  a-dropping  it  on  his  nice  thick  carpet. 
I  give  him  a  chance  to  speak  first,  but  he 
couldn't,  so  I  starts  right  in. 

"  'Mr.  Laird,'  says  I,  'we  come  in  to  get 
a  raise  in  wages.' 

"He  smiled  then,  and  says,  'Well,  boys— 
but  he  didn't  finish  up  with  'have  a  seat,' 
so  I  just  naturally  took  one  on  the  edge  of 
his  desk. 

"He  smiled  again,  polite  as  you  please, 
and  got  out  a  big  box  of  black  cigars.  We 
didn't  refuse  'em,  we  understood  we  was 
being  treated  like  a  regular  committee. 

"  'And  now,'  says  he,  'what  is  the  nature 
of  your  grievance  V 

"I  answered,  'we  are  now  getting  sixty 
cents  a  day  for  twelve  hours'  work,  and  we 
think  we  are  entitled  to  seventy.  If  we 
don't  get  it,  we  have  voted  to  strike  tomor 
row  evening  at  quitting  time.' 

16 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Mr.  Laird  looked  kinda  funny  then,  and 
says  he,  'Boys,  I  don't  think  you  are  treat 
ing  me  quite  fair.  I  have  to  take  this  matter 
up  with  the  National  office,  and  it  would  be 
impossible  to  receive  a  reply  under  a  week/ 

'"I've  told  you,'  says  I,  'What  is  laid 
down  by  the  bunch,  and  that's  all  IVe  got 
to  say.' 

"We  bid  him  good-day  and  walked  out. 
Just  as  we  was  going  down  the  steps,  lead 
ing  from  the  office,  Laird  called  me  back  and 
taking  me  aside,  says,  'You  are  spokesman 
for  all  these  boys,  and  we  are  going  to  hold 
you  responsible  to  keep  them  working  until 
Saturday  night,  when  I  may  be  able  to  get 
word  from  the  National  office.'  Then  he 
patted  me  on  the  shoulder  and  says,  'Don't 
forget  I'm  going  to  buy  you  a  nice  new  suit 
of  clothes  Saturday  night.' 

"I  just  looked  him  all  over,  and  I  says, 
says  I,  'Mr.  Laird,  you  pay  us  boys  seventy 
cents  a  day,  and  we  will  buy  our  own 
clothes,'  and  with  that  I  turned  and  walked 


awav.' 


"Did  you  get  it — did  you  get  the  raise!" 
I  interrupted. 

17 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Did  we?"  answered  Earl,  "Well,  you  can 
just  bet  your  life  we  did.  The  next  evening 
we  kept  our  word  and  pulled  the  strike.  We 
was  only  out  two  hours,  when  the  boss  come 
around  and  offered  us  the  ten  cents  raise." 
Earl  laughed  at  this  point.  "You  see  he 
didn't  have  to  send  to  the  National  office 
after  all,"  said  he. 

My  little  room  was  very  lonely  after  Earl 
left.  He  had  filled  it  so  with  life  and  laugh 
ter,  even  when  wearing  the  grotesque  band 
ages  I  had  managed  to  wrap  around  his 
arms  and  legs.  I  begged  him  to  stay  there 
with  me  in  the  timber-land,  but  he  had  only 
shaken  his  head  and  replied: 

"No,  Stevy,  I  gotta  see  the  world.  You're 
different.  You  like  books,  and  you  always 
seem  to  be  studying  something,  but  it's  too 
quiet  here  for  me.  I  wanta  go  down  to  the 
cities  where  there's  lots  of  folks." 

"I'm  going  to  the  city  too,  some  day,  Earl, 
and  maybe  we'll  meet  again,"  said  I. 

But  several  years  passed  before  our  paths 
again  crossed,  and  then  in  a  manner  no  man 
could  have  foreseen. 

18 


CHAPTER  II. 

"I  want  you  to  help  me  at  the  polls  to 
day."  It  was  Fred  Hollis  speaking,  and  I 
looked  up  from  my  book  and  nodded.  "All 
right,  old  boy,  I'm  with  you." 

As  we  left  Police  Headquarters,  and 
strolled  down  the  streets  of  Duluth,  "Hand 
some  Hollis,"  as  he  was  called,  explained  to 
me  some  Nof  the  details  of  my  first  assign 
ment  as  special  officer. 

I  had  now  been  in  the  employ  of  the  city 
about  a  week,  during  which  time  I  had  re 
ceived  training  as  a  detective,  and  I  looked 
forward  with  much  eagerness  to  my  initial 
job. 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  keep  the  peace  and 
be  observant,"  said  he. 

"That  sounds  easy,"  I  replied,  and  took 
up  my  station  at  the  booth  which  was  in  a 
store  on  the  corner  of  Seventh  and  Superior 
streets. 

I  soon  became  impressed  with  the  silence 
of  the  men  who  came  streaming  up  the 
streets.  They  might  have  been  the  inmates 

19 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

of  a  deaf  and  dumb  asylum,  stopping  on 
their  way  to  work  to  cast  their  ballot  for 
their  president,  for  it  was  the  presidential 
election  of  the  year  1888. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  and  I  passed  in  and 
out  of  the  voting  place,  I  became  curious 
about  the  endless  number  of  blue  and  red, 
especially  red,  tickets  that  were  handed  to 
the  clerks.  The  former  read ' '  I  want  to  vote 
the  straight  Democratic  Ticket,"  and  the 
latter,  "I  want  to  vote  the  straight  Republi 
can  Ticket."  I  asked  a  man,  who  was  col 
lecting  the  bits  of  pasteboard,  and  taking 
down  the  men's  names,  "What  on  earth  is 
all  this  for?" 

He  gave  me  a  pitying  glance,  but  ap 
peared  too  busy  to  furnish  any  further  in 
formation.  Being  in  the  habit  of  finding  out 
things  for  myself,  and  sensing  that  there 
was  something  crooked,  I  engaged  a  fairly 
intelligent-looking  laboring  man  in  conver 
sation. 

"Pal,"  said  I,  "This  is  a  big  industrial 
center.  Lots  of  hard-working  men,  aren't 
there?" 

20 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Over  two  thousand  will  vote  at  this 
poll/'  he  answered. 

"Queer  way  you  have  of  doing  it  here  in 
Duluth,"  I  remarked. 

The  man  looked  at  me  a  moment,  as  if 
hesitating,  then  said,  "A  poor  man  is  never 
given  a  chance  to  cast  his  ballot  as  he  wants 
— he  has  to  cast  it  like  he  is  told." 

"Who  dares  to  tell  you  how  to  vote?"  I 
questioned. 

"Who?"  he  echoed,  with  that  dumb  look 
of  suffering  on  his  face  that  we  have  grown 
accustomed  to  seeing  on  the  faces  of  the 
toilers  the  world  over.  The  men  who  fell 
the  forests  and  till  the  soil  and  build  the 
cities,  but  who  can  not  vote  as  they  see  fit. 
"Why,  the  bosses,  of  course,"  he  added. 

"Pal,"  said  I,  "Tell  me  all  about  it.  I 
don't  even  know  your  name,  so  no  harm 
shall  come  to  you,  but  I'm  new  here,  and  I 
like  to  understand  things."  The  man 
shifted  his  lunch-pail  from  one  hand  to  the 
other,  glanced  over  at  the  heavy  line  of 
smoke  which  marked  the  factory  district, 
and  began. 

21 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"For  weeks  now  the  'ward  heelers'  have 
been  going  around  to  all  the  shops,  mills  and 
elevators,  and  talking  with  the  foremen,  and 
the  foremen  have  done  their  talking  to  us 
workers,  and  we  were  told  which  ticket  to 
vote.  The  Republican  machine  is  in  power 
here,  so  most  of  the  men  were  given  orders 
by  them.  I  guess  they'll  elect  a  Republican 
president  all  right.  That's  the  way  I  voted, 
though  I  belong  to  the  Democratic  Party. 
Still  they're  just  about  the  same,  when  you 
come  down  to  it, — neither  one  cares  what 
becomes  of  the  laboring  man  and  the  labor 
ing  man  has  no  party." 

The  man's  voice  trailed  off  as  if  he  were 
utterly  spiritless.  I  watched  him  a  little 
while  in  silence.  He  was  above  the  average; 
he  had  education  of  a  kind,  and  he  had  evi 
dently  once  had  his  ideals,  yet  he  let  himself 
be  driven  like  an  animal. 

"Did  you  have  to  do  as  they  bid  youl"  I 
asked,  with  a  touch  of  scorn  in  my  voice. 

"I  have  a  wife  and  five  children  to  sup 
port,"  he  answered  quietly,  "and  there'll 
be  a  sixth  child  soon.  When  the  foremen 

22 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

quit  giving  out  the  voting  orders,  they  al 
ways  say  for  the  benefit  of  any  new  men  who 
may  be  present,  '  remember,  you  open  your 
mouths,  or  let  the  voting  clerks  know  that 
you  can  speak  English,  or  hand  in  any  ticket 
but  the  one  we  give  you,  and  you'll  be 
thrown  on  the  street,  your  jobs  taken  from 
you,  and  your  names  placed  on  the  'black 
list/  which  means  we  couldn't  get  another 
job  anywhere  in  this  community." 

A  whistle  blew,  the  man  started,  and 
moved  hurriedly  down  the  street.  I  was 
looking  after  him  when  Hollis  came  up  and 
slapped  me  on  the  back. 

"Wake  up,  old  chap,"  said  he.  "Are  you 
overcome  with  the  number  of  full-fledged 
American  citizens  we  have  here  in  Duluth?" 

"There  does  seem  to  be  a  good  many,"  I 
answered  absently,  my  mind  on  the  man 
who  had  sacrificed  his  one  chance  of  having 
a  voice  in  the  government  of  his  country, 
that  his  babies  might  have  food. 

Hollis  laughed  heartily.  "Why,  Steve, 
don't  you  know  that  more  than  half  of  these 
fellows  who  have  voted  are  aliens?  Every- 

23 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

body  has  to  hand  in  a  ticket  here.  I  guess 
the  reds  have  won  all  right.  The  Democrat 
is  like  the  fellow  who  fell  out  of  the  balloon 
— he  isn't  in  it." 

This  was  in  the  days  before  the  present 
Australian  ballot  system  was  introduced, 
compelling  those  entitled  to  a  vote  to  reg 
ister. 

But  politics  have  not  improved  as  the 
years  have  gone  by.  They  are,  if  anything, 
more  corrupt.  The  crudity  of  the  mill-hand, 
pretending  ignorance  of  the  English  lan 
guage  by  handing  in  a  colored  card  at  the 
poll,  is  done  away  with,  but  in  its  place  we 
find  the  people  of  the  country,  who  are  sup 
posed  to  be  the  very  government  itself, 
dully,  despairingly  casting  their  ballot  for 
municipal,  county,  state,  or  National  nom 
inees,  as  the  "boss"  has  ordered  them  to  do, 
and  big  business  is  in  absolute  control  of  the 
situation. 

As  late  as  1916,  in  some  of  the  states  of  the 
Mid-west,  I  observed  illustrations  of  the 
truth  of  this  statement  in  several  small 
towns  through  which  I  happened  to  be  pass- 

24 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ing.  In  one  there  is  a  great  foundry  com 
pany,  which  owns  practically  all  the  car- 
manufacturing  plants  in  the  United  States, 
and  whose  stockholders  have  held  diplo 
matic  positions  in  European  countries. 
They  so  control  the  votes  of  the  citizens  of 
this  community  that  only  those  who  belong 
to  the  company  "gang"  are  allowed  to  cast 
a  ballot  at  all.  If  a  man  on  the  outside 
should  vote,  his  vote  is  not  counted.  From 
the  prosecuting  attorney  down  to  the  sheriff, 
all  needed  protection  is  given  to  the  cor 
poration. 

In  another  place,  where  most  of  the  voters 
are  struggling  to  make  ends  meet,  and  fail 
ing,  by  putting  in  long  hours  of  service  for 
a  great  boot  and  shoe  manufacturing  con 
cern,  they  are  ruled  politically  and  indus 
trially  by  one  man  who,  in  addition  to  hold 
ing  the  office  of  mayor  of  the  town,  is  pay 
master  of  the  company,  and  the  attorney  for 
the  same. 

In  one  good-sized  town  an  enormous 
enameling  company,  whose  excess  profits 
during  the  first  year  of  the  world  war  were 

25 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

something  over  eight  million  dollars,  in 
formed  their  foremen,  who  are  in  charge  of 
large  crews  of  workmen,  that  they  must 
pass  slips  of  paper  among  the  men  on  which 
they  should  indicate  their  political  prefer 
ence,  and  that  unless  it  was  the  Republican 
Party,  the  plant  would  shut  down  for  a  long 
time  and  there  would  be  no  work.  The  mid 
dle-man  who  conveys  instructions  from 
employer  to  employee  is  generally  hired 
from  a  private  detective  agency,  and  is  put 
into  the  plant  in  the  capacity  of  foreman, 
or  understrapper,  and  is  a  double  paid  indi 
vidual,  receiving  the  usual  salary  from  the 
company,  and  a  wage  from  the  agency  to 
which  he  belongs. 

Not  until  the  close  of  the  year  1918  did  I 
find  any  solution  of  the  problem  which  had 
pained  and  perplexed  the  mill-hand  on  that 
far  away  morning  in  Duluth,  when  he  had 
said,  "and  the  laboring  man  has  no  party." 

In  December  of  that  year,  close  around 
Christmas  time,  was  born  the  hope,  politic 
ally  speaking,  of  the  people  of  America. 

After  passing  through  numberless  har- 

26 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

rowing  experiences,  including  the  unearth 
ing  of  the  murder  of  a  child,  the  exposing  of 
the  abduction  of  the  girl  Leta  Dobey,  who 
had  mysteriously  disappeared,  and  who  was 
found  brutally  murdered,  I  found  myself 
rapidly  acquiring  the  rudiments  of  my  chos 
en  calling.  I  had  now  progressed  from 
municipal  employment  to  the  position  of 
operative  for  a  vast  corporation.  This  was 
the  Interstate  Traction  Company  of  Duluth. 
As  a  detective  for  the  city  I  had  had  to 
swallow  many  things  distasteful,  but  at  least 
I  had  felt  that  I  was  helping  to  bring  about 
a  safer  and  saner  state  of  affairs,  when  I 
became  a  member  of  a  private  agency,  the 

iron  veritably  entered  into  my  soul. 
*     #    *    * 

Soon  after  I  went  to  work  for  this  Trac 
tion  Company,  I  saw  that  they  were  much 
concerned  over  rumors  of  a  coming  strike. 
The  employees  were  all  underpaid  and  over 
worked,  and  repeated  efforts  on  their  part  to 
get  a  slight  raise  in  wages,  a  little  shorten 
ing  of  the  hours,  and  better  working  condi 
tions,  by  sending  representatives  of  their 

27 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

union  to  meet  with  the  officials  of  the  com 
pany,  had  availed  them  nothing,  therefore 
the  men  were  driven  to  that  last  resort — the 
strike.  When  the  company  realized  this, 
they  did  what  big  business  has  done  and  is 
doing  the  world  over  today — they  precipi 
tated  the  strike.  While  the  workers  were 
still  going  quietly  about  their  duty,  hoping 
against  hope,  that  the  employers  would 
show  a  spark  of  humanity  and  grant  their 
requests,  the  heads  of  the  Traction  Trust 
sent  for  the  famous,  or  more  properly  the 
infamous,  bunch  of  strike  breakers  known 
as  the  Huncky-Dunk  gang.  They  were  in 
the  charge  of  a  man  named  Henry  Delden 
of  the  Hart  Detective  Agency,  with  head 
quarters  in  St.  Louis.  I  was  detailed,  as 
sisted  by  another  operative  named  Wilton, 
to  find  suitable  housing  for  these  men. 
Duluth  was  so  well  organized  by  this  time 
that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  get  a 
bed  or  meal  for  them  at  any  hotel  or  board 
ing-house.  So  we  prepared  the  upper  story 
of  the  street-car  barns  at  28th  Avenue  West, 
and  filled  it  up  with  cots.  There  were  about 

28 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

a  hundred  and  sixty  men  in  all,  the  lowest 
type  of  manhood  it  has  ever  been  my  misfor 
tune  to  meet.  They  began  fighting  among 
themselves  and  robbing  each  other  that  very 
first  night. 

With  every  thing  against  them,  the  em 
ployees  were  still  sticking  it  out  when  the 
company  deliberately  discharged  three  men 
who  had  been  in  their  service  for  fifteen 
years.  They  had  committed  no  offense  and 
their  standing  was  very  high.  They  were 
efficient  and  trusted  employees,  so  that  this 
sudden  discrimination,  on  the  part  of  the 
employers,  incensed  the  rest  of  the  workers 
to  such  an  extent  that  they  all  walked  out 
and  the  strike  was  on.  It  was  just  what  the 
company  desired.  The  private  detectives 
and  the  gang  of  strike  breakers  now  began 
operations.  I  witnessed  them  placing  dyn 
amite  on  the  tracks  and  blowing  up  the  cars. 
Delden  seemed  disappointed  that  no  lives 
were  lost. 

"Why,  I've  become  so  expert  doing  this 
kind  of  thing,"  said  he,  "that  I  bet  I  could 
blow  the  top  of  your  hat  off  without  moving 
a  hair  of  your  head." 

29 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

The  trust  press  was  given  the  news  that 
the  union  men  were  causing  the  explosions, 
and  following  instructions  from  the  Trac 
tion  corporation,  and  as  usual  giving  no  heed 
to  the  plea  of  the  working-man  that  he  be 
given  a  square  deal  in  the  paper,  the  head 
lines  were  all  about  how  dangerous  the 
striker  was  becoming. 

The  next  move  was  to  frame  the  organiza 
tion.  And  here  comes  in  one  of  the  most  in 
sidious  methods  employed  by  Capital  to  de 
feat  Labor  and  which  calls  for  the  complete 
co-operation  of  the  " system's  hand." 

A  man  by  the  name  of  LeMoyne,  at  least 
that  was  the  name  he  went  by  in  Duluth,  had 
long  since  been  planted  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  union  itself.  Corporations,  telling  the 
private  detective  agencies,  with  whom  they 
are  in  constant  communion,  to  go  the  limit 
to  keep  them  informed  as  to  the  movements 
of  the  workers,  are  given  much  perverted 
information  by  the  agency,  who  in  turn  has 
gotten  a  lot  of  twisted  tales  from  the  agents 
who  are  sent  into  every  town  and  hamlet  to 
worm  their  way  into  organized  labor. 

30 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

These  Judas  Iscariots  are  told  to  spend 
money  lavishly,  there  is  plenty  more  where 
the  first  came  from  (the  toilers  are  produc 
ing  it  right  along)  and  to  pose  as  being 
greatly  interested  in  the  cause  of  the  labor 
ing  man.  They  are  told  to  follow  some  craft 
long  enough  to  be  admitted  into  a  union,  and 
then  urged  to  strive  after  some  office  in  the 
organization.  In  such  a  capacity  a  private 
detective  can  readily  tell  when  the  workers 
are  at  the  breaking  point  of  endurance,  and 
when  the  actual  pangs  of  hunger  can  no 
longer  be  endured.  But  this  is  not  the  way 
their  reports  read — they  are  concocted  so  as 
to  convey  to  the  corporation  the  news  that 
the  organized  men  are  in  a  wild  state  of  re 
volt  against  all  law  and  order  and  that  the 
very  lives  of  the  employers  themselves  are 
in  danger,  but  that  they,  the  agency  men, 
may  be  able  to  defend  them  from  the  hand 
of  the  assassins.  This  puts  the  middle-men, 
the  private  detectives,  in  such  complete  con 
trol  of  the  industrial  situation  that  they 
have  even  gotten  to  the  point  where  they  can 
command  armies. 

31 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Sending  this  creature,  LeMoyne,  and  a 
woman  whom  he  called  his  wife,  to  the  thea 
ter  one  night,  three  of  us  received  instruc 
tions  to  go  to  his  house  and  place  a  large  box 
of  dynamite  in  the  bedroom  closet.  When 
LeMoyne  returned,  we  were  waiting  for 
him,  we  exhibited  the  dynamite,  caused  a 
scene  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  follow 
ing  morning  the  papers  contained  the  start 
ling  news  that  explosives,  evidently  intended 
for  the  blowing  up  of  the  Interstate  Traction 
Company  Offices,  had  been  found  in  the 
home  of  one  of  the  union  officials. 

Public  sentiment  was  now  running  pretty 
high.  The  strikers  were  getting  the  worst 
of  it  on  every  side,  and  we  operatives  no 
sooner  finished  up  one  piece  of  iniquitous 
work  than  we  began  on  another. 

Dynamite  was  continually  being  placed 
by  us  on  the  street  car  tracks,  and  a  car 
manned  by  strike-breakers  would  be  nearly 
blown  up  and  the  frightened  passengers 
would  hear  the  words,  "  There  goes  them 
union  devils  again."  Often  I  marveled  at 
the  credulity  of  mankind  that  takes  so  much 

32 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

for  granted,  and  never  undertakes  to  make 
an  investigation.  Had  one  man  started  to 
ferret  out  the  truth,  we  could  not  have 
worked  with  the  ease  and  carelessness  we 
did. 

I  remember  one  night  seeing  a  bunch  of 
the  detective  agency  gang  run  a  car  out 
from  the  barn  and  smash  it  all  to  pieces. 
They  dropped  the  word  that  they  were  union 
men.  People  fled  in  terror  from  them,  and 
in  a  short  while  the  city  authorities  had 
what  they  termed  the  desperate  element  of 
oganized  labor  safely  behind  the  bars.  Le- 
Moyne  soon  had  them  all  bailed  out,  and  I 
heard  him  make  the  remark:  "It  takes 
money  to  keep  this  system  going.  It's  a 
good  thing  I  have  access  to  the  union 
funds. "  Not  content  with  casting  black 
suspicion  on  the  innocent  strikers,  who  had 
merely  asked  a  chance  to  live,  and  by  this 
asking,  brought  down  the  wrath  of  the  com 
munity  upon  their  heads,  the  detectives, 
wanting  to  make  a  showing,  decided  to  kill 
a  regular  union  man,  and  I  was  the  one 
selected  to  attend  to  this  pleasant  little  job. 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

By  this  time  I  was  working  doggedly.  I 
didn't  dare  to  stop  to  reason  things  out  any 
more.  My  very  soul  cried  in  revolt  at  the 
life  I  was  leading,  but  somehow  I  kept  think 
ing  that  at  the  next  turning,  I  would  find  a 
way  out.  I  realized  I  was  caught  in  a  laby 
rinth  and  I  was  miserable.  The  night  that  I 
returned  from  planting  sticks  of  dynamite 
within  the  coal  in  the  basement  of  the  com 
pany's  office,  where  they  would  be  found  by 
another  paid  espoigner  and  taken  to  the 
employers  as  evidence  of  how  far  the  em 
ployees  on  the  street  cars  had  gone  to  bring 
about  a  destructive  condition  of  affairs,  the 
union  men  were  holding  a  massmeeting  in 
their  hall,  which  was  located  on  the  third 
floor  of  a  downtown  building.  Horace  Dur- 
kin,  my  associate  in  the  assignment,  and  I 
climbed  to  a  roof,  across  the  street,  by  means 
of  a  fire  escape.  The  night  was  hot  and  the 
windows  of  the  hall  were  all  open.  We  could 
look  right  in  and  see  and  hear  everything. 

Two  or  three  speakers  had  briefly  ad 
dressed  the  workers  when  a  tall  and  splen 
did  looking  young  fellow  mounted  the  plat 
form. 

34 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

" That's  our  man,"  muttered  Durkin, 
nudging  me  suddenly.  ' '  He 's  an  agitator  up 
here  from  Frisco  or  somewhere,  and  he 
thinks  he  knows  what  he's  talking  about. 
Let  him  sing  his  swan  song — we'll  show 
who's  running  this  here  shooting  match," 
but  I  scarcely  heard  him.  I  was  looking  at 
the  man  who  was  speaking.  From  what  he 
said,  I  gathered  that  he  w^as  an  organizer 
for  the  American  Federation  of  Labor,  and 
something  in  his  voice  and  manner  carried 
me  back  to  the  forest  and  old  lumber  mills 
where  I  had  worked.  The  man  was  saying: 

"Brothers,  just  stick  it  out  a  little  longer, 
we  are  bound  to  win.  You,  who  have  tried 
the  economic  battle  alone  know  that,  as  in 
dividuals,  you  stand  no  more  chance  than 
does  a  scrap  of  paper  in  a  sandstorm.  You'd 
soon  be  whirled  off  your  feet  and  into  outer 
darkness.  Our  one  asset  is  our  strength  of 
numbers,  and  even  numbers,  without  organ 
ization,  will  avail  you  nothing.  But  where 
you  find  a  great  mass  of  struggling  human- 
beings  so  intelligently  and  so  harmoniously 
welded  together  that  ten  thousand  men  may 

35 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

speak  with  the  voice  of  one,  you  see  realized 
the  toiler's  only  hope  of  being  allowed  to 
live  at  all — the  Union.  I'm  finding  out  a  lot 
of  things  since  I  came  on  here.  There's  a 
spotter  in  your  midst,  but  I  think  I  know 
who  he  is,  and  I'm  going  to  prove  who's 
making  all  the  trouble.  Only  be  patient  a 
few  days  longer.  Only  keep  your  ranks  in 
tact.  Don't  listen  to  the  men  the  bosses  send 
around  to  your  homes  to  try  to  persuade  you 
to  come  back  to  work.  Neither  use  violence. 
You  don't  have  to.  They'll  do  plenty  of 
that.  You  don't  have  to  raise  your  hand. 
You  don't  have  to  do  a  thing  but  stick. 
Stick,  and  the  fight  is  won." 

Durkin,  sitting  beside  me  on  the  roof,  let 
out  an  oath.  "God,  we  got  to  get  him  sure 
— do  you  hear  what  he's  saying?" 

"Yes,  I  hear,"  I  answered  absently. 

I  was  watching  the  men  who  were  clap 
ping  their  hands  and  cheering  the  speaker. 
Such  tired  and  weary-looking  men.  Their 
shabby  clothes  and  care-worn  faces  telling 
the  tale  of  want  and  worry,  and  yet  in  their 
eyes  the  light  that  keeps  forever  burning, 

36 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

so  that  from  one  generation  to  another  the 
truth  is  passed  on  and  on,  and  from  out  the 
ranks  of  the  toilers  of  the  world  are  sprung 
the  leaders  of  men. 

The  leader  in  the  hall  that  night  moved 
on  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  street. 
The  crowd  followed  him.  With  the  men  who 
formed  the  strike  committee,  he  drew  aside 
a  little  and  conferred  quietly. 

"What  are  you  waiting  for?"  growled 
Durkin,  as  we  slipped  to  the  ground  and  I 
stood  silent.  Then  he  pushed  me  roughly. 
"You  darn  fool,  are  you  asleep  or  just  plain 
drunk.  I  say,  do  you  hear  me?" 

"0,  yes,  I  hear  you,"  I  answered,  and  all 
the  time  I  was  thinking  of  a  little  chap  toss 
ing  on  a  bed  of  pain  and  yet  crying  bravely 
"Never  mind,  Stevey,  we'll  win  yet,  see  if 
we  don't."  And  I  was  saying  to  myself, 
this  thing  can't  happen  to  the  boy  Earl. 
That  was  his  voice,  his  gestures,  his  smile. 
I  know  him,  and  I'm  supposed  to  kill  him. 

"A  fellow  takes  considerable  risk  doing 
a  job  like  this,"  I  complained.  I  had  to  say 
something,  I  was  sparring  for  time. 

37 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Durkin  spat  a  mouthful  of  tobacco  on  to 
the  sidewalk,  and  gave  an  ugly  laugh. 

"Risk  nothing, "  he  replied.  "Why  see 
here,  you  greenhorn,  the  agency  guarantees 
us  fellows  absolute  protection  from  any 
penalty  of  the  law.  The  corporation  we're 
working  for  has  previously  guaranteed  it  to 
the  agency.  We're  immune.  Every  city, 
county,  and  state  official  either  shuts  up  or 
speaks  out,  just  as  they  have  been  bought 
to  do.  That's  why  the  big  companies  and 
trusts  need  so  much  money.  How  can  they 
afford  to  give  the  workers  better  wages'? 
They  can't,"  and  he  spat  another  mouthful. 
I  hadn't  moved  and  Durkin  began  to  get 
angry. 

"Look  here,  if  you're  afraid,  I'll  do  the 
killing  myself,"  he  sneered.  "I  tell  you, 
Doyle,  you  make  me  sick." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  moved  on  down 
the  street  after  the  men  who  walked  with 
Earl.  I  moved  too,  but  it  seemed  to  me  I 
was  moving  in  a  nightmare,  and  was  in 
hibited  from  saying  or  doing  a  thing.  Mo 
ments  passed  that  seemed  like  hours,  and 

38 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

we  found  ourselves  watching  the  marked 
group  from  the  cover  of  Morton's  popular 
saloon. 

Earl  was  standing  out  in  front  talking 
softly  to  his  men  when  Durkin  suddenly 
pushed  open  the  door  and  was  upon  him. 
His  gun  was  even  pointed  before  I  was  able 
to  shake  off  the  terrible  lethargy  which  had 
enveloped  me.  Then  I  sprang  forward  and 
threw  his  arm  up.  The  firing  attracted  those 
who  were  within  hearing.  A  woman  across 
the  street  screamed,  and  two  policemen 
came  running  towards  us.  Durkin,  cursing 
me,  had  dropped  the  gun  at  EarFs  feet  and 
fled.  One  of  the  officers  thought  he  took  in 
the  situation  at  a  glance.  He  picked  up  the 
gun  and  turned  to  Earl. 

' '  Oh,  it 's  you,  is  it  V '  he  snarled.  < '  Shoot 
ing  up  the  town.  A  fine  bunch  this  union  is. 
Well,  you  just  come  along  with  me." 

"This  man  didn't  do  the  shooting,"  I  said, 
stepping  up.  "I  did,  but  I  did  it  for  a  pur 
pose,  right  into  the  sky."  I  smiled  and 
showed  him  my  badge.  He  looked  at  me 
curiously  a  moment,  then  handed  over  the 

39 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

gun.  Durkin  was  right,  I  would  have  been 
safe  no  matter  what  I  had  done.  Baffled  and 
perhaps  peeved,  the  policeman  turned  and 
began  ordering  the  crowd  that  had  gathered 
to  move  along  and  quit  their  noise,  or  he'd 
"sap  somebody  over  the  bean/' 

Through  all  these  tense  moments  Earl 
had  never  taken  his  eyes  off  of  me,  and  when 
I  started  to  go,  he  moved  in  my  direction. 
One  of  his  committee  called  out,  "Don't  fol 
low  him,  Earl,  that's  one  of  them  dicks." 

"I  know,"  Earl  answered,  "but  I  think 
I  knew  him  before  he  was  one.  Just  wait  for 
me  a  minute,  I'll  be  back."  Then  raising  his 
voice,  "Stevey."  I  turned  and  our  hands 
clasped. 

My  God,  old  boy,"  he  almost  sobbed, 
how  did  you  ever  come  to  fall  so  low?" 

I  think  I  told  you  once,  Earl,  that  I  in 
tended  to  be  a  detective." 

"Detective,"  he  echoed.  "Your  work  is 
that  of  a  thug  and  gunman." 

"It's  pretty  rotten  here  in  the  employ  of 
this  company,"  I  admitted.  "But  I  am  go 
ing  to  make  a  change." 

40 


u 

tt 

j 

u 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Earl  put  his  hands  on  my  shoulders, 
"Stevey,  old  boy,"  he  said  quietly.  "You 
will  find  it  the  same  wherever  you  work  for 
a  private  corporation.  You  are  getting  to  be 
a  part  of  the  system's  hand,  the  black  factor 
which  permeates  every  form  of  human  en 
deavor." 

He  was  very  convincing  and  very  win 
ning.  My  affection  for  the  plucky  little 
wage-slave  from  the  steel-mills  was  revived, 
and  somehow  I  realized  that  here  was  a  man 
all  other  men  would  have  to  respect. 

"Earl,"  said  I,  "I  don't  wonder  that  you 
feel  this  way  about  my  calling,  but  I  don't 
want  to  let  one  awful  experience  make  me 
bitter  or  prejudice  me,  when  I'm  only  just 
beginning.  I  was  born  and  raised  to  be  a 
detective.  Surely  there  is  a  place  for  me  to 
do  honest  work  somewhere."  Earl  looked 
at  me  for  a  moment,  and  an  expression  of 
keen  disappointment  crossed  his  face. 

"All  right,  old  boy,"  he  said  crisply. 
"You  always  liked  to  fincl  out  things  for 
yourself,  I  remember,  but  you  are  a  bit  of  a 
dreamer,  you  know,  and  it  takes  you  longer 

41 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

than  it  does  me  to  see  through  people.  When 
you  do  come  to  your  senses,  let  me  hear  from 
you.  Here's  my  card,"  and  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left  me  standing  there. 

How  often  in  after  years  I've  looked  back 
on  that  night  and  wondered  why  I  stood 
there  dumbly  watching  Earl  join  his  com 
panions  and  disappear  into  the  distance,  and 
while  I  was  turning  over  in  my  mind  what 
he  had  said,  someone  touched  me  on  the 
arm,  and  the  foreman,  or  straw  boss,  as  he 
was  called,  who  was  in  the  employ  of  the 
company,  and  to  whom  most  of  us  reported 
any  progress  we  had  made,  demanded  an 
grily,  "What  in  hell's  the  matter  with 
everything  tonight,  anyhow'?" 

"We've  gone  the  limit,"  I  answered. 
"We've  got  to  give  in — the  men  are  on  to 
us.  Killing  a  dozen  of  them  wouldn't  do  any 
good  now.  Public  sentiment  will  turn  in 
less  than  twenty-four  hours.  Tell  the  Presi 
dent  of  the  Traction  Company  that  he  had 
better  settle  at  once.  That  fellow  LeMoyne 
has  bungled  the  job."  Then  I  turned  and 
Balked  away,  and  the  next  morning  as  I  was 

42 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

packing  my  grip  in  preparation  to  leave 
Duluth,  I  heard  the  newsboys  calling  out, 
"Extry  paper  here,  all  about  the  big  strike 
ending,  Street  car  company  grants  demands 
of  union  men.  Extry  paper  here. " 


CHAPTER  HI. 

Like  many  another  heartsick  fellow  i 
turned  my  face  towards  the  West  with  no 
definite  plans  for  the  future. 

I  felt  that  there  must  be  a  need  for  me 
somewhere,  and  that  Earl's  opinion  of  my 
calling  was  biased.  The  experience  with  the 
street  car  company  in  Duluth  had  been 
enough  to  revolt  me  with  the  very  thought 
of  being  a  detective,  but  I  recalled  certain 
words  of  my  father,  which  had  implanted 
in  my  mind,  the  importance  of  the  position 
such  a  man  holds  in  human  society.  I  re 
membered  a  story  he  used  to  tell  of  the  rob 
bing  of  a  railroad  station  in  Quebec,  where 
several  respectable  families  had  been  held 
under  suspicion,  until  such  time  as  my 
father,  acting  in  the  capacity  of  a  detective, 
cleared  their  names  and  fixed  the  felony  on 
the  real  offender. 

I  went  over  in  my  mind  the  details  of  the 
famous  Amherst  mystery  in  New  Bruns 
wick,  where  he  also  saved  an  innocent  per 
son  from  punishment  and  brought  to  justice 

45 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  real  criminal,  who,  in  this  instance,  was 
a  maniac  escaped  from  a  nearby  asylum. 
Surely,  to  preserve  law  and  order,  a  detec 
tive  was  needed  and  by  nature  I  was  fitted 
to  do  the  w^ork  of  one — what  then  was  the 
matter?  The  matter  was  that  I  was  still 
influenced  by  the  traditions  of  my  Scotch- 
Irish  ancestors,  who  had  grown  up  in  the 
environment  of  Scotland  Yard,  where  the 
duties  performed  were,  and  to  this  day  are, 
comparatively  legitimate,  and  I  was  living, 
not  in  England,  but  America,  where  money 
rules,  and  where  the  enormous  detective 
trusts  have  reached  out  and  appropriated 
every  individual  who  would  give  himself  to 
this  calling,  and  made  it  impossible  for  him 
to  transact  a  clean  piece  of  business  if  he 
would.  But  Earl  was  right — I  must  find 
out  things  for  myself. 

It  must  have  been  that  some  vague  hope 
of  bettering  conditions,  rather  than  ignor 
ance  of  them,  prompted  my  decision  to  stay 
on,  and  I  recall  how  I  pictured  myself 
bringing  the  attention  of  government  offi 
cials  to  the  deplorable  state  existing  in  such 

46 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

companies  as  the  one  whose  employ  I  had 
just  left.  The  day  came,  however,  when  I 
realized  the  utter  futility  of  being  able  to 
get  back  of  the  moneyed  interests,  the  pow 
erful  corporations,  the  vast  trusts,  which 
are,  in  the  last  analysis,  the  final  courts  from 

which  we  have  no  appeal. 
#     *     *     * 

Standing  on  a  pine-clad  mountain  top  I 
looked  down  on  the  Couer-de-Alene  mining 
districts  of  Shoshone  County,  Idaho,  known, 
locally,  as  The  Bitter  Root.  In  a  valley, 
made  beautiful  by  nature  and  cruelly  dis 
figured  by  man,  I  traced  the  outlines  of  the 
Davis-Inslow  mine,  one  of  the  largest  silver- 
leaf  shippers  in  the  world. 

I  had  been  directed  here  two  or  three 
years  after  coming  West  and  was  now  in 
the  employ  of  a  so-called  high-class  private 
agency.  My  work  consisted  in  prowling 
around  among  the  employees  and  reporting 
the  general  sentiment  which  prevailed. 
About  three  thousand  " hands"  were  toiling 
under-ground  and  over.  The  wages  were 
pitifully  low,  the  hours  long,  and  the  con- 

47 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ditions  unspeakable.  The  mines  were  very 
wet.  The  air  was  foul,  and  much  of  the  work 
of  the  miners  had  to  be  accomplished  lying 
on  the  side  or  bent  double.  Those  working 
on  the  day-shift  never  saw  the  sunlight, 
and  among  those,  to  whom  it  fell  to  load  the 
ore  on  the  cars,  one  seldom  found  a  man  who 
was  not  half  sick.  A  large  number  of  them 
became  what  is  known  as  "leaded",  a  fatal 
malady  brought  on  by  the  length  of  time 
passed  under-ground  in  such  an  atmos 
phere. 

From  the  concentrators  the  mine  aver 
aged  a  daily  shipment  of  twenty-seven 
thousand  tons  of  ore  which  was  conveyed  to 
the  various  smelters  of  the  country.  Here 
the  silver  is  separated  and  sent  to  the  mines, 
and  the  pig-lead  is  bought  chiefly  by  the 
manufacturers  of  bullets. 

The  miners'  little  homes,  clustered  all 
about  the  mountain,  were  rudely  construct 
ed  of  logs,  tar-paper  and  rocks.  Babies  and 
domestic  animals  huddled  together  in  the 
dooryards.  Conditions  had  vastly  improved, 
I  was  told,  since  the  men  had  become  100 

48 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

per  cent  organized  but,  with  the  introduc 
tion  of  the  union,  had  come  the  introduction 
of  the  paid  espoigners.  They  were  making 
all  the  trouble  possible,  but  they  had  not 
been  able  as  yet  to  make  trouble  enough  to 
call  forth  the  National  Guards. 

Governor  Samuels  was  a  far-seeing  man 
and  a  friend  of  the  working  people.  We  find 
them  occasionally,  these  rare  spirits,  even 
in  the  so-called  higher  walks  of  life — men 
and  women  who  are  treading  the  path  fear 
lessly,  holding  the  torch  up  so  that  those 
who  follow  may  see  the  light  and  know 
which  way  to  turn;  but  like  all  reformers 
and  revolutionists,  who  have  the  courage  of 
their  convictions,  they  pay  the  price  with 
their  lives. 

This  Governor  argued  that  the  union  men 
had  not  done  anything  to  warrant  the  send 
ing  into  the  state  of  Federal  Troops  and  he 
refused  to  call  upon  the  chief  executive  of 
the  country  when  the  company  requested 
him  to  do  so.  This  put  the  company  to  the 
necessity  of  forcing  one  of  the  agencies' 
operatives  into  the  miners'  organization. 

49 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

The  President  of  the  Miners'  Federation, 
believing  this  detective  to  be  on  the  square, 
extended  to  him  the  right  hand  of  fellowship 
and  the  betrayer  immediately  blew  up  a 
one-half  million  dollar  concentrator  and 
threw  the  stigma  on  the  union.  So  great  a 
catastrophe  was  this  dynamiting  that  the 
wreckage  furnished  eight  thousand  cords  of 
wood.  Still  the  Governor  refused  to  call  for 
troops,  and  the  company  went  over  his  head 
in  the  matter  and  appealed  to  the  President 
of  the  United  States.  The  chief  executive 
was  made  to  believe  that  the  miners'  organ 
ization  was  composed  of  a  very  dangerous 
set  of  men  and  he  ordered  into  Idaho  the 
first  Nebraska  regiment  consisting  of  over 
eight  hundred  men. 

Then  came  the  erection  of  the  " bull-pen". 
We  who  have  seen  these  inclosures  in  the 
steel  districts,  as  late  as  the  year  1919,  dur 
ing  the  great  strike  era,  know  how  they  look 
and  know  also  that  the  brutal  and  inhuman 
treatment  to  which  organized  labor  was  sub 
jected  several  years  ago  has  not  diminished 
one  iota.  Into  a  corral  of  fourteen  feet  high 

50 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

posts  and  closely  woven  barbed  wire,  the 
union  men  were  thrust.  They  had  com 
mitted  no  offense.  They  were  victims  of 
the  " system's  hand"  that's  all. 

I  saw  mere  boys  and  I  saw  old  men  pushed 
up  against  the  sides  of  the  pen  where  the 
barbed  wire  pierced  their  flesh  and  caused 
the  blood  to  flow,  put  through  the  third  de 
gree  and  tortured  to  make  them  confess  to 
the  blowing  up  of  the  concentrator.  When 
they  refused  to  perjure  themselves  they 
were  kept  in  the  pens  for  weeks  at  a  time. 
I  have  only  to  close  my  eyes  now,  to  see 
them  standing  or  lying  about  the  straw,  the 
rain  often  beating  down  upon  them — hard 
working  husbands  and  fathers,  corraled 
like  cattle,  and  treated  worse.  The  red-iron 
stains  made  a  dull  patch  of  color  on  their 
overalls,  and  they  would  hold  their  hands 
above  their  straining  eyes  the  better  to  see 
some  familiar  little  shack  where  a  fright 
ened  wife  and  hungry  babies  waited  and 
waited  and  no  one  ever  came.  The  fearful 
stench  of  the  pen  rose  up  and  permeated  all 
the  mountain  air. 

51 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

After  awhile  another  regiment  from 
Kansas  was  sent  to  join  the  Nebraska 
Guards,  and  then  before  the  elapse  of  many 
days,  a  negro  regiment  from  the  State  of 
Washington  was  sent,  at  the  instigation  of 
the  company,  into  Idaho  and  camped  around 
the  Davis-Inslow  mine. 

A  sergeant  named  Phillips,  an  old  man 
who  beneath  his  uniform  still  carried  a 
heart,  and  under  his  soldier  cap  a  bit  of 
brain  that  could  not  be  bought,  was  doing 
guard  duty  around  the  pen  one  night  when 
the  toilers  began  to  tunnel  their  way  out, 
and  Phillips,  seeing  them,  kept  on  guarding 
until  the  tunnel  was  finished.  Later  he  was 
court-martialed  and  his  pension  taken  from 
him,  but  he  only  remarked,  "I  would  rather 
lose  a  hundred  pensions  than  go  on  witness 
ing  the  barbaric  treatment  accorded  those 
poor  miners. " 

Spies  were  stationed  over  the  little  homes 
of  the  men  who  were  imprisoned  and  when 
ever  the  women  went  to  the  creek  to  get 
water  with  which  to  do  their  washing,  they 
were  subjected  to  coarse  insult.  When  per- 

52 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

secution  was  about  at  its  height,  "Death- 
on-the-trail"  Syd  Barker,  impersonating  a 
United  States  Marshal  and  wearing  a  star, 
shot  down  seven  men  in  cold  blood.  He 
thought  they  were  all  strikers,  for  by  this 
time  a  strike  had  been  precipitated,  but  it 
transpired  that  five  of  the  victims  were  dis 
guised  gunmen  in  the  employ  of  the  com 
pany.  The  two  others  were  regular  union 
men,  two  splendid  fellows  named  Darring- 
ton  and  O'Shay,  whose  wives  were  teaching 
school  in  the  shack  where  the  children  of 
the  miners  went  for  a  few  months  before 
they  were  swallowed  into  the  bowels  of  the 
earth.  These  men  were  unarmed,  but  as 
soon  as  he  had  killed  them,  Barker  pulled 
two  half-loaded  thirty-eight  calibre  re 
volvers  from  his  pocket  and  placed  one  each 
in  the  pockets  of  the  dead  men  who  were 
lying  on  the  street  in  a  pool  of  their  own 
blood.  When  the  officers  found  them,  they 
decided  that  the  men's  wives  should  not  be 
allowed  to  even  see  them,  and  they  were 
buried  while  still  warm,  in  a  burying-ground 
called  Aceldama,  which  is  a  Hebrew  word 

53 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

meaning  "The  Field  of  Blood"  or  "The 
Sepulchre  of  Forgotten  Things". 

I  couldn't  stand  it  all  any  longer.  I  went 
to  Boise,  and  asked  for  an  interview  with 
the  chief  executive  of  the  state.  I  had  not 
long  to  wait  at  the  capital  before  I  was  ush 
ered  into  Governor  Samuels'  private  office. 
There  I  confided  to  him  the  secrets  that 
were  burdening  my  conscience.  I  could  talk 
to  him  freely,  for  there  was  so  much  re 
sponse  in  his  grave  kindly  face.  When  I 
told  him  of  the  frame-ups,  of  the  persecu 
tions,  and  the  murders,  he  grasped  me  by 
the  hand  and  said: 

"Doyle,  I  knew  it.  I  have  felt  that  there 
was  something  crooked  going  on  all  the 
time,  but  I  couldn't  seem  to  unravel  the 
mystery,  and  no  one  could  without  the  help 
of  one  of  you  who  have  been  a  part  of  the 
awful  system  itself.  I  can  understand  how 
you  have  been  led  into  this  life,  and  I  think 
you  are  a  very  remarkable  man  indeed  to 
take  this  risk,  and  lay  bare  the  hideous 
truths  connected  with  it.  I  will  do  every 
thing  in  my  power  to  break  its  hold." 

54 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

I  thanked  him,  and  as  I  looked  into  his 
face,  and  read  there  his  consecration  to 
duty,  I  seemed  to  sense  that  I  would  never 
see  him  again.  Standing  there  silent  for  a 
moment,  our  hands  clasped — it  was  as  if  we 
both  saw  the  long  line  of  exploited  workers, 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  them  march 
ing  past  with  drooping  heads  and  dragging 
feet,  going  the  round  of  inexorable  toil,  pro 
ducing,  always  producing,  and  I  realized 
that  this  man  was  willing  to  make  the 
supreme  sacrifice  for  them.  Slowly  I  raised 
my  head  and  looked  him  squarely  in  the 
eyes.  I  had  gotten  my  perspective.  I  knew 
now  why  I  was  a  part  of  the  "  system's 
hand".  I  was  there  that  I  might  bring  to 
light  the  hidden  things  that  struck  men 
down.  Henceforth  I  would  serve  my  fellow- 
men  as  I  had  wanted  to  serve.  I  would  be  a 
detective  among  detectives,  an  operative 
with  a  mission.  Earl  might  call  it  sinking 
low,  but  somebody  had  to  do  the  work,  and 
I  would  do  it  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 


55 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  short  while  later,  I  was  sent  by  my 
agency  up  into  British  Columbia  where  a 
strike  had  been  in  progress  for  nine 
months.  After  six  weeks  of  watchful  wait 
ing,  I  was  able  to  study  out  the  secret  work 
being  done  there. 

The  companies  in  Canada  differ  from  the 
ones  in  the  States  in  this  respect — that  up 
there,  they  are  sought  by  the  agencies,  and 
here  in  the  States,  the  agencies  are  sought 
by  the  companies. 

Captain  Bell  of  the  Hart  branch  of  the 
system  had  gotten  the  job  for  himself,  and 
his  men,  by  telling  the  heads  of  the  corpora 
tion  that  owned  and  directed  the  operation 
of  the  mines,  that  a  lot  of  desperate  men 
from  the  States  were  mingling  among  the 
workers,  and  endangering  the  employers' 
rights  and  property,  and  that  only  by  secur 
ing  the  aid  of  his  crew,  could  they  escape 
disaster.  The  officials  took  in  all  they  were 
told,  thanked  the  chief  for  his  information, 

57 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  promptly  engaged  the  whole  outfit  to 
protect  them. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  in  the  town  of 
Kaslo,  I  met  Edmond  Montford,  president 
of  the  Bank  of  British  Columbia.  I  walked 
into  the  bank  one  morning  and  handed  him 
my  card.  He  read  the  words  "Stephen  A. 
Doyle"  and  then  looked  at  me  a  little 
quizzically.  "It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile,  "that  you  are  the  man  who  blacked 
my  boots  for  me  at  the  Lakeview  Hotel  last 
night." 

"The  same,"  I  answered.  "I  am  a  detec 
tive,  and  I  find  I  can  get  quicker  results 
when  working  ' under  cover',  though  I  can't 
say  I  particularly  enjoy  the  job  of  cleaning 
cuspidors,  scrubbing  floors,  and  blacking 
boots.  However,  I  hear  many  things  this 
way,  for  people  never  stop  to  consider  that 
a  poor  porter  might  have  ears,  and  if  ears,  a 
brain." 

Mr.  Montford  regarded  me  questioningly. 
"But  why  do  you  come  to  me'?"  he  said,  evi 
dently  interested,  but  mystified.  "And 
whom  do  you  represent?" 

58 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"  Just  a  detective/'  said  I. 

We  were  both  leaning  on  the  high  ma 
hogany  counter.  He  asked  me  to  sit  down. 
We  did  so,  and  I  began: 

"Mr.  Montford,  you,  as  financial  head  of 
the  big  mining  interests  in  this  Slocan  dis 
trict,  are  employing  about  four  hundred 
operatives  of  the  Hart  Detective  Agency. 
Some  are  operating  in  the  miners'  union  by 
number,  an  arrangement  which  makes  it  im 
possible  for  anyone  to  identify  them.  Now 
in  your  vault  you  have  thousands  of  reports 
given  you  by  Captain  Bell.  These  reports 
are  supposed  to  be  accurate  statements  con 
cerning  the  sentiment  which  prevails  among 
the  miners,  whereas  they  are  ridiculous  mis- 
statements  written  by  the  agents  for  the 
purpose  of  terrifying  you  and  the  other 
owners  of  the  mines,  thus  making  you  feel 
dependent  upon  the  agency  for  protection. 
In  these  reports  are  mentioned  the  names 
of  such  men  as  Dave  Scott,  Archy  Williams, 
and  James  Delvine,  fine  substantial  union 
men  and  efficient  miners,  but  they  have  been 
described  to  you  as  dangerous,  threatening 

59 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

to  destroy  life  and  property.  I  have  positive 
proof  that,  during  the  nine  months  and  more 
that  this  district  has  been  in  the  throes  of  a 
strike,  you  and  the  rest  of  the  company  have 
paid  the  detectives  no  less  than  one  and  one- 
half  million  dollars,  and  perhaps  you  know 
how  far  that  exceeds  the  amount  paid  in 
wages  to  the  workers. " 

"You  have  gone  far  enough/'  said  he. 
"But  will  you  refer  me  to  some  man  of 
prominence  who  will  endorse  you?" 

"Do  you  use  the  Bedford  McNeil  code?" 

"Why,  yes,  with  a  few  modifications  for 
our  own  private  use." 

"Very  well,  send  a  wire  to  James  G. 
Hood,  president  of  the  Great  Western  Rail 
way,  worded  to  suit  yourself,  and  ask  him 
if  Stephen  A.  Doyle  is  to  be  trusted." 

I  left  the  bank,  and  returned  to  the  Lake- 
view  Hotel,  where  in  my  basement  room  I 
changed  the  clothes  I  had  worn  for  the  dirty 
overalls  of  the  porter,  and  was  soon  engaged 
in  shining  a  pair  of  shoes. 

The  next  evening  Edmond  Montford 
slipped  into  the  high  chair  where  the  men 

60 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

sat  to  have  their  boots  blackened,  and  pick 
ing  up  a  newspaper,  remarked  carelessly, 
"I  guess  you  are  about  the  best  bootblack  I 
know.  Come  over  to  see  me  tonight,  any 
time  after  nine  o'clock,  and  I  will  have 
something  for  you." 

When  I  again  found  myself  in  Mr.  Mont- 
ford's  private  office,  he  took  me  warmly  by 
the  hand  and  exclaimed,  "Hood  says  you 
are  all  right.  Now  tell  me  how  we  can  best 
bring  about  an  end  to  this  strike." 

"Fire  Bell  and  his  crew."  said  I. 

"Will  that  be  safe?" 

"They  will  threaten  you  and  the  other 
employes,  of  course,  but  they  will  not  put 
into  execution  any  threats.  They  are  all 
cowards  at  heart." 

Montford  remained  in  deep  thought  for 
quite  a  while,  his  head  resting  on  his  hand. 
I  could  see  by  the  troubled  look  in  his  eyes 
how  great  a  hold  the  system  had  upon  him. 
Finally  he  called  in  the  other  managers  of 
the  mines  who  were  in  an  adjoining  room, 
and  introducing  me,  explained  my  errand. 

The  men  were  dumbfounded.   I  tried  to 

61 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

make  clear  to  them  how  I  had  come  into 
possession  of  so  much  knowledge  concern 
ing  their  affairs. 

"Why,  this  Bell/'  said  I,  "came  to  town 
disguised  as  a  peddler.  He  has  had  the  de 
tectives  reporting  to  him  constantly,  and  I 
have  heard  practically  everything  they  have 
been  saying  to  each  other.  You  remember 
two  men,  named  Fuller  and  Schultz,  who 
recently  threatened  the  lives  of  some  of  you 
men,  and  whom  you  were  led  to  believe  were 
members  of  the  miners'  organization?  Well, 
they  are  both  a  part  of  the  Hart  crew." 

After  a  long  conversation,  and  with  evi 
dent  trepidation,  they  decided  to  take  my 
advice.  In  a  few  days,  it  became  known  that 
Bell  had  been  told  to  take  his  men  and  go. 
The  owners  would  deal  directly  with  the 
employes  in  the  mines  through  the  miners' 
union  representatives.  This  so  angered  the 
chief  of  the  detective  squad  that  he  re 
doubled  his  efforts  to  bring  suspicion  upon 
the  organization. 

One  night,  as  I  stood  in  Mr.  Montford's 
office  talking  with  him,  the  back  door  was 

62 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

suddenly  burst  open,  and  a  giant  of  a  fel 
low,  Wade  Young,  by  name,  sprang  into  the 
room,  and  cursing  Montford,  raised  his  hand 
as  if  to  deal  a  blow.  The  owners  had  always 
thought  this  man  a  violent  member  of  the 
miners'  union,  but  I  knew  him  for  what  he 
was.  Stepping  forward,  and  in  front  of 
Montford,  who  had  turned  white  as  death,  I 
said,  "  Captain  Bell  sent  you  to  make  this 
threat — get  out!" 

The  man  simply  crumpled  and  slunk 
away. 

Turning  to  Montford,  I  smiled  and  said, 
"You  see." 

When  I  left  the  bank  a  little  later,  Young 
was  lying  in  wait  for  me.  After  consider 
able  of  a  tussle,  in  which  I  was  losing,  pass- 
ersby  pulled  the  man  off,  and  I  swore  out 
a  warrant  for  his  arrest.  When  taken  before 
the  justice  of  the  peace,  and  questioned  as  to 
why  he  had  attacked  me,  he  broke  down  and 
confessed  everything.  The  judge  gave  him 
two  hours  to  leave  town. 

The  Provincial  Constabulary  of  Canada 
then  took  every  measure  to  rid  their  coun- 

63 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

try  of  these  agents.  The  result  was  that  in 
a  short  while,  the  whole  Hart  crew  had  crept 
back  across  the  border  and  into  their  native 
land  again. 

The  big  strike  came  to  a  satisfactory  close 
for  both  employers  and  employees,  and 
there  has  never  been  any  further  labor 
trouble  in  that  section  of  the  mining  dis 
trict  to  the  present  day;  however,  it  was 
only  a  matter  of  years  until  another  branch 
of  the  system  made  a  successful  entry  into 
the  city  of  Winnipeg,  Manitoba,  and  brought 
about  a  condition  of  affairs  that  finds  no 
counterpart  in  modern  history. 

Bell  now  sent  for  me  to  come  to  Nelson, 
B.  C.,  and  talk  over  a  business  proposition. 
I  felt  that  for  the  present,  the  best  thing  for 
me  to  do  was  to  keep  track  of  him  and  his 
dealings  and  the  way  to  do  that  most  effec 
tively  was  to  appear  to  play  into  his  hands. 

Bell  realized  that  I  knew  entirely  too 
much  about  the  secret  workings  of  the  sys 
tem,  and  was  too  thoroughly  antagonistic  to 
that  system  for  it  to  be  safe  for  me  to  be  at 

64 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

large,  therefore  he  wanted  to  get  me  back 
under  his  control. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  trip  from  one 
mining  district  to  another.  Leaving  Kaslo 
of  an  early  morning,  I  traveled  by  narrow- 
gauge  railway  through  a  very  deep  canyon. 
The  road  wound  and  climbed  up-hill  all  the 
way  along  the  sides  of  the  lofty  Toad  and 
Caribou  Mountains.  The  scenery  here  is 
magnificent.  I  arrived  at  the  little  town  of 
Sandon  in  time  for  the  noon-day  meal,  and 
continued  by  narrow-gauge  .to  a  place  called 
New  Denver,  where  I  transferred  to  a  boat 
and  traveled  by  way  of  the  Arrow-Head 
Lakes  to  my  destination. 

Bell  met  me.  I  saw  by  his  first  glance 
that  he  feared  me,  and  I  longed  inexpress 
ibly  to  turn  aside  from  all  the  human  suffer 
ing  which  I  was  probably  going  to  witness, 
and  go  on  drifting  down  the  mountain  side, 
where  infinite  peace  and  the  majesty  of 
silence  reigned.  But  there  was  to  be  no 
turning  back,  only  a  going  forward,  though 
it  led  me  through  all  that  was  ghastly. 

Bell  had  gotten  another  mining  company 

65 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

under  his  control.  His  opening  remarks  to 
me  were  " Don't  be  a  fool,  Doyle,  and  make 
sacrifices  for  the  workers,  much  less  the  cor 
porations — they  have  no  mercy  on  anyone. 
You  have  ability.  Stick  to  me,  and  I'll  make 
you  rich  and  famous.  This  year  alone  I  can 
promise  you  a  clear  profit  of  thirty  thou 
sand."  Then  he  handed  me  two  books,  in 
which  to  keep  accounts,  and  said:  "In  one 
of  these  record  the  real  amount  of  your  ex 
penses,  and  in  the  other,  a  much  larger 
amount.  The  latter  will  be  sent  to  the  com 
pany,  and  they,  afraid  to  do  without  our 
protection,  will  pay  it,  never  fear."  He 
laughed  as  at  a  great  joke,  and  my  heart 
grew  sick  at  the  contemplation  of  so  much 
deception. 

Bell  then  urged  me  to  join  a  lodge  of 
which  he  was  a  member,  as  he  said  it  would 
be  a  bond  between  us,  and  as  he  expressed  it, 
"give  us  a  common  ground  to  stand  on."  I 
was  further  instructed  to  choose  my  own 
"under  cover  disguise",  and  proceed  to 
work  as  he  directed. 

I  thought  it  all  over.    I  realized  that  I 

66 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

must  gain  still  deeper  insight  into  the  meth 
ods  employed  by  the  "System's  Hand" 
to  defeat  every  effort  made  by  the  producers 
of  w^nHh  to  o^''r'  °ljhood.  let  alone 

arn  and  to 

on  the 

ive  to  ^.ppear  to 
<:en  the 

&,  I  could  reveal  to  all  the 
worfd. 

I  clopirVrl  to  o-oen  an  employment  agency, 
and  I  called  it  the  "Western  Canadian." 
Bell  told  me  to  procure  him  all  the  miners 
and  otl^r  WOT^-P^S  no^siblp,  even  women  to 
run  eating  house?  and  th^n  he  said  to  me, 
"Give  to  every  employee  that  you  send  to 
the  company  instructions  that  their  main 
job  is  to  sow  seeds  of  dissension.  They  are 
to  create  a  feeling  of  distrust  between  em 
ployer  and  employee,  between  race  and  race, 
always  to  see  to  it  that  labor  is  divided 
against  itself.  Tell  them  that  we  will  be 
watching,  and  the  man  or  woman  who  stirs 
up  the  most  trouble  will  be  rewarded  ac 
cordingly." 

67 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Bell  left,  and  I  started  to  operate  the 
agency.  A  man  by  the  name  of  Daniels  had 
been  elected  to  the  Dominion  Parliament  on 
the  Union  Ticket,  and  he  had  done  a  great 
deal  to  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  the  miners 
by  establishing  the  eight-hour  law. 

An  employer  who  worked  a  man  under 
ground,  beyond  this  specified  time  was  fined 
a  thousand  dollars,  and  a  point  that  the  pri 
vate  operatives  had  been  told  to  stress  was 
the  undesirability  of  such  a  law. 

One  morning,  soon  after  I  began  opera 
tions,  a  stolid-looking  Swede  walked  into 
the  office  and  said  he  wanted  work.  I  told 
him  I  could  get  him  a  job,  but  that  he  must 
undertake  to  do  certain  things  besides  mere 
ly  working  for  the  company  who  owned  the 
mines,  and  that  he  would  be  well  paid.  I 
then  outlined  a  course  of  action  he  was  to 
pursue,  and  the  man  agreed  to  follow  in 
structions. 

"If  the  miners  are  all  right,  how  do  I  re 
port  them  bad?"  he  asked,  in  a  puzzled 
voice. 

"You  will  be  working  with  them  on  an 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

eight-hour  shift,"  said  I.  "You  can  turn  in 
a  report  showing  that  the  men  associated 
with  you  are  loafing  on  the  job  ever  since 
this  eight-hour  law  went  into  effect.    You 
can  then  show  how  much  better  they  worked 
when  they  toiled  ten  or  twelve  hours."  He 
smiled  comprehensively. 
"Just  lie  like  hell  all  the  time?" 
"That's  the  dope,  now  go  on." 
"But  who  do  I  make  reports  to?"  he  con 
tinued,  with  characteristic  persistence. 

"Put  them  all  in  writing,"  I  answered. 
"Sign  number  nine  at  the  bottom  of  each 
page,  and  address  the  papers  to  Harry  An 
drews,  Box  55,  Rosland,  B.  C." 

It  was  not  necessary  to  explain  to  this 
fellow  that  Bell  was  the  man  who  always 
opened  Box  55,  and  in  the  days  that  fol 
lowed,  one  of  the  few  bits  of  humor  in  the 
whole  situation  were  the  reports  that  num 
ber  nine  sent  in.  I  have  one  still  preserved, 
which  reads  : 

"Box  55,  Dear  Sir:  All  day  the  miners  sit 
down  and  smoke  pipes  and  talk  of  blowing 
up  the  mines.  That  eight-hour  business  is 

69 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

very  bad  since  it  makes  them  awful  restless 
for  the  old  days  when  they  could  sit  in  the 
mines  for  about  eleven  hours  and  play  cards 
and  drink  whiskey.  A  fellow  asked  me  if  I 
carried  a  card,  I  told  him  'no,  I  carried  a 
gun.'  (Did  you  want  me  to  let  that  part 
out?)  This  union  man  was  awful  nice  to 
me,  and  I  think  I'd  like  to  join,  but  I'll  re 
port  him  no  good,  and  wait  instructions 
about  the  joining.  What  in  hell  is  all  this 
lying  leading  to  anyway,  and  when  do  I  get 
my  pay  for  the  damn  job?  Please  answer, 
and  say  what  you  want  in  the  next  letter. 
It's  not  easy  making  it  up. 

"  Respectfully, 
"HANS  CHRISTIAN,  No.  9. 

"P.  S.— Don't  forget  about  the  pay." 
#     *     #     * 

On  a  certain  sunny  morning,  when  tjie 
beauty  of  the  mountains  seemed  to  pervade 
even  the  dingy  detective-employment 
agency,  and  while  I  stood  looking  out  of  an 
unclean  window  on  the  towering  cliffs,  with 
the  fir  trees  growing  thick  upon  them,  a 
stranger  entered  the  office,  and  spoke  to  me 

70 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

in  the  unmistakable  London  accent,  with 
which  I  had  been  familiar  as  a  child.  Just 
why,  I  don't  know,  but  I  felt  intuitively 
that  he  was  endeavoring  to  conceal  this  very 
accent,  and  I  came  forward  and  regarded 
him  closely.  A  gentleman  in  the  true  sense 
of  the  word,  I  said  to  myself,  and  aloud  I 
asked,  "Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  sir." 

The  stranger  smiled,  " These  mountains," 
he  said  softly,  "I  am  carried  away  with  the 
grandeur  of  them.  I  have  been  listening  to 
those  water-falls  out  there,  and  I  think  I 
never  heard  such  music." 

I  nodded.  "They  help  me,  too,"  said  I, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  here  were  a  man 
who  would  understand  whatever  I  might 
wish  to  express,  without  the  need  of  put 
ting  the  thought  into  words.  We  stood  in 
silence  for  a  moment,  that  silence  which  is 
the  height  of  companionship,  then  I  pulled 
myself  out  of  the  dream-world,  into  which 
I  so  often  strayed,  and  regarded  the 
stranger  with  the  keen  eyes  of  a  trained  de 
tective.  Why  was  he  here?  What  kind  of  a 
trap  was  being  laid  for  me?  Was  Bell 

71 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

hoping  to  catch  me  napping?  And  all  the 
while  I  knew  that  the  man,  leaning  care 
lessly  against  the  counter,  was  reading  the 
questions  passing  through  my  mind. 

Past-master  of  my  art  that  I  was,  I  real 
ized  that  in  this  man,  with  his  casual  re 
marks  about  the  beauty  of  the  mountain 
scenery,  I  had  met  my  match.  I  decided  to 
be  very  much  on  guard,  and  for  a  while  the 
conversation  between  us  was  a  pretty  piece 
of  fencing.  I  parried  every  delicate  thrust 
he  made,  and  at  last  he  gave  up  with  a  little 
sigh  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  he,  looking  back 
over  his  shoulder,  "that  you  appear  to  me 
to  be  more  of  a  detective  than  the  kind  of  a 
man  one  usually  finds  in  charge  of  an  em 
ployment  agency?" 

"Indeed,"  said  I.  "Perhaps  one  who 
might  have  come  from  Scotland  Yard?" 

He  wheeled  around  quickly.  "Yes,  you 
might." 

"If  there  were  a  man  like  you  to  open  the 
door  of  Opportunity,  who  knows?" 

"Listen,"  said  he,  "I  trust  you.  I  don't 

72 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

know  why,  but  I  do.  This  is  my  card."  I 
took  the  bit  of  pasteboard,  and  read,  *  Alfred 
M.  Greer,  Scotland  Yard'.  Scotland  Yard- 
how  that  name  always  thrilled  me,  and 
brought  back  to  my  mind  the  very  earliest 
impressions  of  my  childhood.  I  held  out  my 
hand.  "Mr.  Greer,  my  name  is  Doyle.  I 
can't  even  begin  to  tell  you  how  glad  I  am 
that  you  have  come.  It  has  been  so  hard,  at 
times,  working  all  alone."  Then  I  told  him 
something  of  myself  and  my  surroundings. 

"I  am  representing  my  government," 
said  Greer,  "in  an  investigation  against  a 
man  named  Wilfred  Storms,  who  organized 
the  Western  Canadian  Mining  Company. 
The  London  Universal  Insurance  Company 
has  advanced  about  twenty  million  dollars, 
and,  to  use  plain  language,  they  feel  that 
they  have  been  robbed  of  their  money. 
However,  I  am  here  to  investigate  and  re 
port,  and  I  want  you  to  aid  me,  if  you  will." 

Then  I  knew  why  I  had  been  led  to  do 
this  work  for  Bell  and  why  I  had  stayed  on 
when  I  couldn't  see  that  I  was  accomplish 
ing  anything.  "It's  often  been  like  this," 

73 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

said  I,  as  if  he  would  understand  what  I  was 
talking  about.  Greer  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "a  born  detective  is  a 
psychic  also." 

"Mr.  Greer,  I'm  going  to  have  to  tell  you 
something  that  will  shock  you,  but  the 
sooner  you  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  affair, 
the  better.  The  thefts  that  you  have  come 
over  here  to  find  out  about  are  being  done 
by  members  of  our  profession."  He  looked 
at  me  a  moment,  as  if  stupified,  then  ex 
claimed,  "Why,  impossible.  How  could  de 
tectives  do  that?  They  are  to  protect  prop 
erty,  not  to  steal  it."  It  took  a  long  while 
to  make  things  plain  to  this  man,  who,  with 
all  his  experience,  had  never  stumbled  on  to 
any  parallel.  Many  times  he  shook  his  head, 
as  if  utterly  bewildered,  and  once  he  asked 
abruptly,  "But  wiio  gives  them  authority?" 

"In  this  mine  the  operatives  are  under 
the  control  of  a  Captain  Bell  of  the  Hart 
Service  Company,  Incorporated." 

"The  Hart  Service  Company,  Incorpor 
ated?"  he  echoed?  "Operating  on  British 
territory — I  don't  understand." 

74 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"It  is  an  American  concern,"  I  replied, 
"that  has  wormed  its  way  across  the  lines." 

"America,"  he  cried,  more  astonished 
than  ever,  "and  do  they  allow  such  atroci 
ties  there  ?" 

"Mr.  Greer,"  said  I,  "have  you  not  ob 
served  that  every  country  has  a  ruler?  In 
America,  just  at  present,  the  subjects  are 
compelled  to  do  homage  to  a  king  called 
Gold." 

"Gold,"  he  repeated,  "but  detectives,  we 
were  talking  of  them — I  don't  get  the  point 
of  contact." 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  see  you  don't.  I  think  I 
shall  have  to  show  it  to  you  in  a  concrete 
form.  Come  with  me." 

Without  a  word  he  followed  as  I  led  the 
way  out  of  the  office,  down  the  road  for  half 
a  mile,  and  then  up  a  steep  trail  for  another 
half.  Here  I  branched  off  into  the  under 
brush  and  a  few  minutes  later,  after  some 
steady  digging  on  my  part,  Greer  was  look 
ing  down  upon  the  buried  treasure  of  the 
agency.  In  a  rude  sort  of  casket,  which  I 
had  managed  to  pry  open,  lay  great  chunks 
of  yellow  gold. 

75 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"The  company  put  some  of  the  operatives 
to  doing  the  work  of  furnace  men  about  the 
mine,"  I  explained,  "and  they  allowed  the 
smelter  to  become  chilled,  and  when  the 
gold,  instead  of  running  off  into  the  sands, 
settled  at  the  bottom,  they  cut  it  out  with 
cold  chisels,  in  large  pieces,  like  you  see. 
For  many  weeks  now  they  have  been  drop 
ping  small  bits  into  the  pockets  of  the  union 
miners,  so  as  to  throw  suspicion  upon  them, 
and  a  number  of  innocent  fellows  are 
serving  prison  sentences  in  consequence." 

Greer  had  grown  very  pale.  "It  is  unbe 
lievable,"  was  all  he  could  murmur.  After 
a  while  he  asked,  "But  the  company  here 
in  this  district — do  none  of  them  try  to  get 
to  the  root  of  a  felony  such  as  this?" 

"They  are  accessories  to  it,"  I  replied. 
"The  superintendent  and  general  manager 
of  the  mine  is  the  ring-leader  of  them  all." 

Another  silence,  which  I  did  not  inter 
rupt,  and  while  watching  me  put  the  earth 
carefully  back  over  the  stolen  gold,  Greer 
asked,  "How  did  they  ever  get  this  box  up 
here — we  are  a  long  way  from  the  mine?" 

76 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"They  shipped  it  in  a  coffin-shaped  re 
ceptacle,  so  that  the  railroad  officials  would 
think  it  was  a  body  for  burial,  but  as  the 
gold  is  much  heavier  than  a  corpse  would 
be,  some  of  the  detectives  traveled  with  it 
and  did  all  the  handling  themselves. " 

Greer  stood  gazing  down  upon  the  place 
when  I  had  finished  my  task,  as  if  he  were 
looking  upon  a  newly  made  grave.  When  he 
raised  his  eyes  I  saw  that  he  had  at  last 
unraveled  the  tangle. 

"The  agents'  operatives  are  in  collusion 
with  the  company  here  in  Canada  to  rob  the 
English  Syndicate — am  I  right?"  he  asked, 
speaking  slowly,  as  if  he  wanted  to  progress 
step  by  step. 

I  nodded. 

"And  the  English  Syndicate,"  he  con 
tinued,  "is  robbing  the  Insurance  Company 
who  advanced  the  twenty  million?" 

"Correct." 

"Then  that  brings  it  all  up  to  the  point 
that  the  man  who  first  conceived  the  big  idea 
of  opening  and  operating  these  mines,  Wil- 

77 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

fred  Storms,  is  the  man  I  am  after.  I  need 
never  have  left  London." 

"No,"  I  said,  "it  was  necessary  that  you 
come,  or  you  would  never  have  found  him, 
even  in  London,  for  it  was  not  in  London 
that  he  \vorked,  but  here,  with  the  aid  of 
the  ' system's  hand',  which  is  an  exclusive 
American  product  and  indispensable  to  all 

swindles." 

•*     #     #     # 

The  following  year  found  us  both  engaged 
in  some  very  intricate  investigation  work 
in  the  State  of  Idaho  where  I  had  first  come 
after  leaving  Duluth. 

I  had  persuaded  Greer  to  stay  on  and 
study  conditions  as  I  knew  them  to  be. 

"It  is  necessary  that  you  should  do  so," 
said  I,  "for  you  have  already  seen  how  this 
menace,  with  which  we  are  contending,  has 
crept  across  seas  and  into  other  lands." 

I  kept  thinking  of  Governor  Samuels,  and 
I  heard  and  saw  evidence  everywhere  of 
how  wrell  he  was  fulfilling  his  promise  to  me 
to  befriend  the  worker.  He  had  made  inves 
tigations  and  had  succeeded  in  driving  out 

78 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  nest  of  private  detectives  operating  in 
the  Coeur-de-Alene  mining  district.  But  he 
had  not  been  able  to  root  them  out  of  the 
state,  nor  even  out  of  the  little  town  where 
the  Governor's  mansion  stood.  They  were 
closing  in  on  him,  but  with  that  fine  fearless 
ness  which  characterized  him,  Samuels 
chose  to  ignore  all  threats  that  he  received 
from  the  detectives,  telling  him  that  the 
union  men  were  after  him.  He  had  been  on 
my  mind  particularly  for  several  days,  when 
one  evening  Greer  and  I  sat  in  my  room  at 
the  hotel,  and  smoked  and  watched  the 
wreaths  curl  upward  from  our  pipes.  At 
intervals  we  spoke,  discussing  our  coming 
separation.  He  was  now  ready  to  return  to 
London,  and  I  had  decided  to  journey  fur 
ther  Southwest  and  see  something  of  Cali 
fornia. 

"You  will  have  a  mighty  poor  opinion  of 
the  profession  to  carry  back  with  you, 
Greer/'  said  I.  He  smiled  a  little  sadly. 
"Nevertheless,  I  have  known  you,"  he  re 
plied.  "But  Doyle,  tell  me,  are  the  mem 
bers  of  the  department  of  justice  of  the 

79 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

States  as  vile  as  these  private  agents  who 
operate  in  such  vast  numbers  everywhere?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  "they  are  not.  Many 
of  them  are  only  too  anxious  to  bring  about 
a  better  condition,  but  they  are  so  utterly 
helpless,  being  dupes  themselves  of  the  '  sys 
tem's  hand'." 

"But  howl  I  really  cannot  quite  compre 
hend." 

"It  is  owing  to  capital's  control,"  I  an 
swered.  "The  profiteers  who  have  made  mil 
lions  out  of  labor  are  so  drunk  with  the  lust 
of  power  and  the  greed  for  gold  that  they 
stop  at  nothing,  even  murder  itself.  How 
ever,  they  do  not  actually  perform  the  act 
themselves,  that  kind  of  work  is  left  to  the 
highly-paid  private  detective,  who,  in  addi 
tion  to  such  crimes,  is  instructed  to  pull  the 
wool  over  the  eyes  of  all  government  offi 
cials  and,  at  all  times,  feed  their  minds  with 
lies." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  bell 
boy  handed  me  an  extra  edition  of  the  daily 
paper.  "Samuels  has  been  killed,"  he 
gasped. 

80 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

I  read  the  words  confirming  his  state 
ment,  and  saw  how  the  bought  press  had  im 
mediately  linked  the  murder  with  the  name 
of  the  miners'  union.  I  turned  to  Greer. 

"He  gave  his  life  that  others  might  be 
saved/'  said  I.  "More  than  that,  no  man 
could  do." 

Inside  of  a  few  days  the  whole  country 
was  in  possession  of  the  details  of  this 
brutal  murder.  Governor  John  Samuels  had 
left  his  house  on  the  morning  of  the  20th  of 
December,  and  walked  as  far  as  the  fence, 
inclosing  the  grounds,  when  a  time  bomb 
placed  under  the  gate  blew  him  to  the  four 
winds  of  heaven. 

Letters,  purporting  to  come  from  the  offi 
cers  of  the  miners'  organization,  but  written 
by  the  operatives  of  the  big  detective 
agency,  were  found,  in  which  he  Governor 
had  been  frequently  threatened  with  assas 
sination,  and  the  result  was  that  the  presi 
dent,  vice-president,  and  secretary  of  the 
union,  as  innocent  men  as  ever  lived,  were 
charged  with  the  killing,  and  thrown  into 
prison.  Protesting  their  absolute  ignorance 

81 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

of  the  whole  affair  did  no  good.  The  net  in 
which  they  were  caught  was  woven  of  too 
fine  a  mesh,  and  to  securely  tied.  Like  the 
victim  of  the  frame-up  who  languishes  in 
San  Quentin  today,  they  were  not  even 
given  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  which  in  law 
is  accorded  to  every  creature  until  he  is 
proved  guilty.  And  word  came  from  Wash 
ington  that  the  chief  executive  had  said 
about  them:  "They  are  undesirable  citizens, 
and  should  be  hung." 

It  was  at  this  time  that  a  great  man  was 
running  for  the  presidency  on  the  Socialist 
ticket,  and  he  made  this  public  declaration: 
"If  these  men  hang,  then  they  hang  me  too." 

Greer  and  I,  owing  to  the  nature  of  the 
investigation  work  we  had  been  doing,  knew 
very  well  who  the  real  criminal  was,  and  as 
soon  as  it  was  possible  for  us  to  get  a  hear 
ing,  we  laid  bare  the  facts  of  the  case  before 
the  new  Governor  of  the  state. 

I  told  him  that  the  man  to  question  was 
the  private  detective  whom  we  knew  had 
sent  the  letters,  and  who  had  blown  up  the 
concentrator,  and  who  had  wormed  his  way 

82 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

into  the  miners'  organization  for  the  pur 
pose  of  bringing  disgrace  upon  the  union 
men.  Finally  this  was  done,  and  when  put 
on  the  stand,  the  man  admitted  he  was 
guilty. 

The  trust  press  that  had  sent  the  news  of 
the  arrest  of  the  miners  in  glaring  head 
lines,  flashing  from  coast  to  coast,  now  sup 
pressed  all  word  of  their  release,  and  the 
conviction  of  the  operative  who  was  sen 
tenced  to  life-imprisonment.  The  inevitable 
exposure  of  Bell  and  his  crew,  who  had 
fled  to  another  state,  was  likewise  hushed 
up,  for  the  newspapers  of  the  country  are 
the  most  obedient  servants  the  capitalists 
have  ever  trained  to  work  for  them.  They 
have  scarcely  ever  made  a  mistake  and 
given  out  the  truth. 

The  President  of  the  United  States,  who 
had  previously  condemned  the  union 
miners,  had,  at  least,  the  fairness  of  mind 
to  say,  when  the  whole  plot  was  revealed  to 
him:  " These  private  agencies  should  be 
abolished  by  law,  and  it  should  be  made  a 
felony  for  any  of  them  to  operate  within  the 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

limits  of  our  land.  The  only  ones  having 
any  jurisdiction  at  all  should  be  placed  un 
der  the  care  and  control  of  the  department 
of  justice,  which  is  clean,  and  the  others 
should  be  run  out  of  the  country,  as  one 
would  run  a  horde  of  sewer-rats.  They  are 
a  more  terrible  menace  than  the  Bubonic 
plague." 

But  alas,  the  President  of  the  United 
States  is  not  the  one  who  has  the  determin 
ing  voice.  The  handful  of  men  who  have  suc 
ceeded  in  acquiring  the  bulk  of  the  blood- 
money  of  this  wonderful  and  resourceful  re 
public  are  the  real  rulers  of  America,  and 
they  could  not  maintain  their  autocratic 
sway  in  the  face  of  a  people  crying  out  for 
democracy,  did  they  not  employ  the  various 
branches  of  the  " system's  hand"  to  crush 
and  crucify,  while  they  themselves  sit  safely 
and  securely  behind  the  protecting  folds  of 
the  Red,  White  and  Blue,  the  flag  the  toil 
ers  of  the  nation  love. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  typical  San  Francisco  fog  was  drifting 
in  from  the  Golden  Gate.  The  boys  selling 
huge  bunches  of  violets  on  Kearney  Street 
had  cheeks  the  color  of  roses.  The  air  that 
so  exhilarates  one  that  you  feel  more  like 
skipping  than  walking,  had  taken  posses 
sion  of  me  on  this  March  afternoon,  and  I 
drew  in  deep  breaths  and  thanked  the  Fates 
that  had  sent  me  to  California. 

For  a  little  while  I  forgot  the  sordid  life 
I  lived.  Everywhere  there  were  radiant 
flowers.  Everybody  seemed  to  move  grace 
fully,  and  I  fancied,  happily.  School  chil 
dren  flocked  by  in  laughing  groups.  The 
women  all  appeared  to  be  dressed  stylishly. 
The  men  seemed  to  be  in  a  great  hurry. 
Automobiles  dashed  noisily  yet  merrily  by. 

It  is  that  first  impression  one  always  gets 
on  entering  beautiful  San  Francisco.  The 
city  that  has  never  grown  up.  The  city  that 
holds  so  much  promise  to  the  newcomer,  but 
the  city  that,  in  spite  of  its  vivid  coloring, 

85 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

its  perfume,  and  its  exquisite  loveliness,  has 
been  defiled  and  made  a  place  of  loathing. 

Strolling  up  Market  Street,  I  noticed  the 
closed  doors  of  a  large  department  store, 
and  out  on  the  sidewalk  a  half  dozen  girl- 
pickets  keeping  quiet  guard.  Up  and  down 
they  walked,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left  and  speaking  to  no  one.  Of 
their  number  I  was  especially  attracted  to 
a  very  pretty  but  a  very  tired  appearing 
little  girl.  She  moved  wearily  in  her  shabby 
gray  suit,  yet  her  head  was  held  high,  and 
that  head  was  the  color  of  the  California 
poppy,  the  dainty  little  gold-red  flower 
which  grows  on  the  plains  of  the  San  Joa- 
quin.  I  purposely  passed  close  to  her,  and  I 
noticed  that  her  eyes  were  the  blue-green 
eyes  of  the  Golden  West;  eyes  that  seemed 
to  have  caught  their  coloring  from  the 
ocean  which  is  ever  surging  up  against  the 
Cliff  House  rocks. 

I  suppose  that  to  every  man  it  is  given, 
at  some  time  in  his  life,  to  recognize  the  one 
woman,  his  woman,  from  out  the  rest  of  all 
the  world.  He  does  not  always  marry  her, 

86 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

indeed  he  very  seldom  does.  He  may  not 
have  the  opportunity  of  sharing  many  ex 
periences  with  her,  but  to  the  day  they 
screw  the  casket  lid  down  over  his  face,  she 
is  to  him  what  the  French  would  call  his 
"raison  d'etre",  and  much  of  life  that  he 
has  only  apprehended  is  comprehended 
after  that. 

I  don't  know  how  long  I  stood  on  the 
corner  watching  this  girl,  but  presently  I 
became  aware  of  a  familiar  figure  passing  to 
and  fro.  It  was  a  woman  elegantly  gowned 
and  deeply  veiled,  but  a  detective  has 
tucked  away  in  the  pigeon-holes  of  his  mind 
a  picture  of  every  person  whom  he  has  ever 
met,  and  I  knew  I  had  seen  and  talked  with 
this  woman  somewhere,  though  just  for  the 
moment  I  was  unable  to  recall  the  time  and 
place. 

After  a  careful  scrutiny  of  the  street,  she 
approached  the  girl-picket  with  the  red- 
gold  hair  and  said  something  to  her.  The 
girl  did  not  reply.  Pickets  early  learn  the 
necessity  for  silence.  A  word  spoken,  a 
pause  of  half  a  second  in  the  dreary  and 

87 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

monotonous  march,  and  an  injunction  is  ob 
tained  prohibiting  them  from  "  blocking 
traffic". 

The  woman  persisted,  however,  and  final 
ly  the  girl  took  off  her  badge  and  walked 
with  her  to  the  next  block.  I  followed — de 
tectives  learn  to  follow^ — and  they  were 
neither  of  them  aware  of  my  presence,  when 
I  heard  the  woman  say,  "Yes,  I  am  a  social 
welfare  worker.  Our  club  has  noticed  how 
brave  you  pickets  are,  how  much  you  need 
a  bit  of  encouragement  and  cheer,  and  espe 
cially  howr  much  you  need  a  place  in  which 
to  rest,  and  get  a  good  warm  meal.  Here  is 
my  card,  with  the  address  of  our  clubrooms 
on  it.  Gro  there  now  and  tell  the  lady  in 
charge  I  sent  you."  She  smiled  sweetly,  and 
the  girl  looked  up  at  her  in  a  trusting  man 
ner,  as  much  as  to  say,  "You  offer  me 
friendship,  and  I  am  sore  in  need  of  it.  I 
will  accept  your  invitation." 

They  separated,  and  I  continued  to  follow 
the  girl.  When  she  turned  into  Mission 
Street,  I  stepped  up  to  her  and  spoke. 

"Pardon  me,  Miss,  but  will  you  let  me  see 

88 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  card  that  woman  gave  you?"  She  start 
ed  and  drew  back,  but  I  persisted,  "Well, 
even  without  the  card,  I  know  who  she  is, 
and  you  simply  must  not  go  to  this  house 
where  she  has  sent  you." 

The  girl  still  regarded  me  silently,  and  I 
could  see,  suspiciously,  but  I  went  on,  "I 
happened  to  overhear  this  woman's  invita 
tion  to  you,  and  I  also  happen  to  know  that 
she  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  her  type. 
I  had  dealings  with  her  up  in  Oregon  some 
years  ago.  You  will  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  am  a  detective." 

Then  the  girl  spoke  for  the  first  time,  and 
though  her  voice  was  soft  and  low,  it  was 
tinged  with  a  bitter  sarcasm. 

"I  would  rather  listen  to  that  strange 
woman  than  to  a  detective.  One  of  them  in 
the  employ  of  the  store  came  up  to  me  this 
morning,  and  ordered  me  off  the  sidewalk. 
When  I  refused  to  go,  he  took  me  by  the 
arm  as  if  to  push  me  off,  but  he  twisted  my 
wrist  so  that  I  have  been  in  pain  ever  since. 
A  lot  of  good  advice  a  detective  is  likely  to 

89 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

give  a  union  girl,"  and  with  that  she  turned 
quickly  and  walked  away. 

I  couldn't  blame  her  for  her  opinion  of  my 
calling.  It  was  only  too  true,  and  she 
couldn't  know  that  I  was  different.  Some 
how  or  other,  I  had  to  save  her,  as  I  had 
saved  Earl  that  night  he  was  to  have  been 
killed,  but  how  it  was  to  be  accomplished,  I 
failed  to  see.  I  would  simply  follow  her,  and 
it  would  come  to  me  what  I  should  do. 

When  we  reached  the  address  the  woman 
had  given  her,  the  girl  paused  for  an  in 
stant  at  the  foot  of  the  steps;  glancing  back, 
she  saw  me  near,  and  that  seemed  to  decide 
matters  for  her.  She  ran  up  and  rang  the 
bell.  A  moment  later  and  the  door  had 
closed  upon  her. 

I  stood  there  waiting  for  what  seemed  to 
me  to  be  a  long,  long  time.  I  realized  that 
this  so-called  clubhouse  was  the  first  decoy. 
It  would  even  bear  inspection.  Books  and 
magazines  and  tea-things  and  easy  lounging 
chairs  would  be  about  all  there  was  to  see, 
but  a  quiet-looking  woman  with  a  tragedy 
in  her  eyes,  seated  at  a  desk,  over  which 

90 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

hung  a  picture  of  a  Biblical  character,  would 
be  taking  down  the  names,  and  chiefly  the 
appearances,  of  the  wistful-faced  and  hun 
gry  working-girls,  who  drifted  in,  one  at  a 
time,  and  shyly  accepted  the  hospitality  ex 
tended  them. 

There  is  more  method  on  the  part  of  cap 
ital  in  keeping  wages  down  than  even  labor 
dreams  of.  A  poor  man  has  no  time  to  be 
come  educated,  and  so  he  cannot  develop 
into  anything  the  rich  man  fears.  A  poor 
woman  has  one  last  resort,  when  the  under 
nourished  body  cries  aloud  for  food. 

After  a  while,  the  girl  came  out  of  the 
door-way  and  hurried  down  the  street  in  a 
direction  that  I  knew,  as  a  detective  must 
know  many  hidden  things,  even  about  a  city 
with  which  he  is  not  familiar,  led  to  the 
white  slave,  or  as  it  is  popularly  called,  the 
"red-light  district". 

There  was  now  no  time  to  be  lost.  I  had  to 
think  rapidly,  and  act  accordingly.  Step 
ping  up  to  her  side,  I  said  firmly,  "Just 
give  me  one  chance  to  prove  to  you  that  I 
know  what  I  am  talking  about.  Let  me  take 

91 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

this  next  address,  which  you  got  in  that 
house  you  entered,  and  I  will  bring  your 
new  friend  out  to  you,  and  she  will  tell  you 
herself  that  what  I  say  is  true." 

I  did  not  wait  for  her  to  reply,  but  snatch 
ing  the  slip  of  paper  from  her  hand,  I  dashed 
on  ahead  and  left  her,  this  time,  to  follow  me. 
A  few  moments  later,  and  I  found  myself  in 
a  luxuriously  furnished  room.  The  carpet 
and  curtains  and  upholstery  were  of  the 
richest  fabrics.  I  sent  the  maid,  who  had 
admitted  me,  for  the  wroman  in  charge,  and 
she  came  at  once.  Her  bearing  was  very 
gracious.  To  the  casual  observer  she  was  a 
poised  woman  of  the  world,  beautiful  and 
refined.  To  a  detective,  she  wTas  a  procuress 
of  the  under-world,  desperate  and  defiant. 

"Miss  Beryl,"  I  said,  using  the  first  name 
only,  as  the  custom  is,  "I  have  come  here 
to  identify  you  as  the  woman  I  saw  in  the 
company  of  the  white-slaver,  Alma  Burke, 
in  Portland,  Oregon,  some  years  ago."  I 
showed  her  my  card,  and  continued,  "I  saw 
you  both  in  the  Sacred  Heart  Hospital  at 

the  bedside  of  Chester  Hurd,  a  man  respect- 
_/ 

92 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ed  as  an  able  labor  leader,  who  had  been  shot 
by  the  city  operative,  Dale  Yarrow,  and  I 
heard  you  offer  the  dying  man  fifty  dollars 
as  a  bribe  not  to  prosecute  Yarrow,  the  lat 
ter  having  sent  you  as  his  messenger.  You 
represented  yourself  as  his  sister,  and  the 
nun  in  charge  of  that  ward  heard  you  also, 
and  returned  the  money  to  you,  saying  the 
patient  would  have  no  need  for  it  while  un 
der  their  care. " 

The  woman,  Beryl,  hung  her  head  and 
studied  my  card,  then  she  looked  me 
straight  in  the  eyes,  and  replied,  "Even  ad 
mitting  the  truth  of  your  accusations,  I  fail 
to  see  just  how  they  have  any  bearing  on 
your  visit  here  now." 

"There  is  a  young  girl  waiting  outside," 
said  I.  "You  will  come  with  me,  and  tell  her 
that  they  have  made  a  mistake  in  the  ad 
dress  they  gave  her  at  the  girls*  club." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "Very  well, 
Mr.  Doyle,  but  let  us  be  about  it  as  quickly 
as  possible.  I  have  other  things  to  attend 
to.  I  will  get  my  hat  and  coat." 

93 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"You  will  come  as  you  are,"  said  I,  and 
I  held  the  door  open  for  her  to  pass. 

With  an  impatient  gesture,  she  ran  down 
the  flight  of  steps  to  where  the  girl  stood 
on  the  sidewalk.  Her  self-possession  was  re 
markable.  She  smiled  coolly  at  the  little 
figure  in  the  shabby  gray  suit,  and  said  in 
differently,  but  with  a  touch  of  emotion  in 
her  voice,  "I  think,  my  dear,  you  would  bet 
ter  go  back  to  the  picket  line.  This  gentle 
man  has  convinced  me  that  you  would  not 
appreciate  our  efforts  in  your  behalf." 

With  that,  she  turned,  and  walked  scorn 
fully  away,  and  the  girl  stared  after  her  un 
til  she  disappeared  in  the  doorway  of  the 
house  again. 

"I  am  sorry,  Miss,"  I  said,  a  little  awk 
wardly,  "that  all  this  had  to  happen,  but 
perhaps  it  is  just  as  well.  You  will  know 
how  to  take  care  of  yourself  next  time." 

The  girl  looked  at  me  questioningly.  "I 
don't  understand,"  said  she,  "this  woman 
was  so,  well,  so  lovely  and  kind, — will  you 
tell  me  just  what  kind  of  a  place  this  house 
is?" 

94 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"It  is  where  they  send  the  youngest  and 
the  prettiest  girls/ '  I  answered,  slowly, 
choosing  my  words  carefully,  "to  become 
white  slaves.  Don't  you  know  what  that 
means?" 

The  girl  nodded.  "Yes,  I  think  I  know 
what  that  means,  but  I  didn't  know  that  this 
was  a  way  they  went  about  it.  I'll  never 
trust  anyone  again." 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  I  saw 
how  very  tired  she  was.  Poor  little  girl,  not 
much  more  than  a  child,  but  having  to  learn 
already  that  for  such  as  she,  the  death-trap 
had  been  set,  and  she  must  be  on  the  alert 
always,  lest  she  fall  into  it  unawares. 

"I  had  a  friend  once,"  she  said  sadly. 
"Her  name  was  Evelyn  Vaughn.  She 
wrorked  with  me  in  the  store.  She  was  very 
pretty.  One  day  she  failed  to  report  for 
work.  Nothing  has  ever  been  heard  of  her 
since  she  disappeared.  I  was  just  wonder 
ing " 

"I  know  about  that  case,"  said  I.  "She 
was  found  choked  to  death  in  this  very  dis 
trict.  She  had  been  lured  in,  just  as  they 

95 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

were  attempting  to  lure  you.  The  man  who 
killed  her  was  aided  by  city  officials  to  make 
his  escape/' 

The  girl  turned  very  pale. 

"But  why/'  she  asked,  in  a  horrified  tone, 
"does  the  law  not  stop  such  infamous  prac 
tices?" 

What  could  I  say  to  enlighten  the  girl's 
ignorance  ? 

"The  law,"  said  I;  "there  is  no  law  for 
the  poor  man  or  woman.  Were  you  to  go  to 
the  first  policeman  whom  you  met,  with 
your  tale  of  near-abduction,  you  would  be 
talking  to  a  man  who  has  received  instruc 
tions  to  collect  tribute  from  such  women  as 
the  one  wrho  talked  to  you,  but  remember 
she  too  was  innocent  like  you,  once,  and  the 
mayor  of  the  city  who  receives  the  tribute, 
gives  permission  and  police  protection  to 
those  who  carry  on  the  white  slave  traffic. 
For  girls  like  you  and  Evelyn  Vaughn, 
there  is  no  one  who  cares." 

"I  think  I  understand,"  said  she,  and  I 
saw  that  her  mind  was  traveling  from  the 

96 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 


known  to  the  unknown.  "It  is  another  form 
of  employer  and  employe." 

" Exactly,"  I  answered,  "and  perhaps 
you  realize,  from  your  own  experiences, 
that  in  all  dealings  between  capital  and 
labor  the  law  is  made  for  capital." 

"The  law  IS  capital,"  she  added  quietly. 
"I  see  it  all  now." 

There  was  a  changed  expression  on  her 
face.  The  baffled  look  of  the  child  had  gone 
forever,  and  in  its  place  had  come  the  dawn 
ing  light  of  womanhood,  that  womanhood 
which  carries  a  double  burden,  and  which 
must  ever  struggle  to  attain  a  double  vic 
tory. 

I  held  out  my  hand.  "Good-bye,"  I  said, 
trying  to  smile  to  make  her  smile,  "I  want 
you  to  watch  tomorrow's  papers,  and  now 
will  you  tell  me  your  name1?" 

The  girl  took  my  hand,  and  she  did  smile 
and  tried  to  thank  me  in  a  pathetic  little 
way. 

"My  name  is  Poppy,  Poppy  Grant.  My 
mother  died  when  I  was  born,  and  they  say 
the  last  thing  she  said  was,  'Call  her  for  the 

97 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

California  wildflower  that  I  have  always 
loved'.  My  father  was  a  Socialist,  and 
taught  me  many  things  before  he,  too, 
passed  away." 

I  stood  there  until  the  little  figure  dis 
appeared  from  view,  and  then  I  turned  and 
entered  Beryl's  house  again. 

For  two  hours  the  woman  and  I  talked. 
"The  only  reason  I  believe  in  you,"  she 
said  to  me  finally,  "is  because  you  are  the 
man  who  restored  to  Marguerite  Lane  the 
six  thousand  dollars  worth  of  diamonds 
which  the  police  took  from  her  when  she 
languished  in  the  Portland  jail.  They 
warned  us  against  you  long  ago,  those 
policemen  and  detectives  who  teach  us  to 
trust  them  and  then  betray  us  when  it  suits 
their  wiiim  to  do  so.  We  have  always 
worked  for  them  and  done  what  we  w^ere 
told,  but  they  are  not  on  the  square  with 
anyone." 

"No,"  said  I,  "they're  not." 

"Yet  you  are  one  of  them,"  said  Beryl. 
"That  I  can  not  understand." 

"I  am  with  them,  but  not  of  them,"  said 

98 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

I,  "neither  are  you  one  of  these  women, 
though  found  among  them  and  doing  their 
work/' 

She  looked  at  me  strangely  for  a  moment. 
"How  do  you  know  that'?"  she  asked,  quiet 
ly. 

"I  know  it  in  the  same  way  that  I  know 
many  things,  I  am  a  detective  by  nature 
rather  than  from  choice.  Beryl,  tell  me  how 
did  you  come  to  choose  this  life?" 

"Women  don't  choose  this  life,  she  an 
swered,  gravely.  "Economic  conditions 
force  them  into  it."  She  glanced  out  of  the 
window  at  the  long  row  of  houses  opposite. 

The  clang  of  a  street-car  and  the  whistle 
of  a  boat  out  on  the  bay  came  to  us  as  noises 
from  a  great  distance.  Beryl  sighed  deeply. 

"Did  you  never  stop  to  consider  that  fact, 
Mr.  Doyle  ?  I  myself  am  the  daughter  of  a 
clergyman.  The  first  thing  that  I  can  re 
member  is  sitting  in  a  high  old-fashioned 
pew,  with  the  music  of  the  organ  filling  the 
air,  and  watching  my  father  up  in  the  pulpit, 
preaching.  I  think  I  must  have  fairly  wor- 
my  father.  He  was  a  very  hand- 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

some  man,  and  an  orator.  I  can  see  him  now, 
bending  over  towards  his  congregation, 
pleading  with  them  to  lead  pure  and  honest 
lives,  and  Mr.  Doyle,  I  was  not  yet  out  of 
my  teens  when  I  saw  my  mother's  heart 
break  the  day  they  brought  my  father  home 
to  her  from  the  house  of  one  of  his  parish 
ioners.  He  had  been  suspected,  and  caught 
by  the  husband  of  a  woman  with  whom  he 
had  been  living  for  many  months,  and  she 
wras  not  the  only  one  whom  he  had  wronged. 
I  never  went  to  church  again.  Young  as  I 
was,  I  started  out  in  the  world  to  make  my 
own  way.  My  father's  disgrace  broke  up 
our  home,  and  I  was  forced  to  seek  work.  I 
sought  a  place  in  a  big  department  store, 
and  there  I  stood  for  long  hours  and  sold 
laces  for  five  dollars  a  week.  When  I  went 
to  the  superintendent  and  told  him  I  could 
not  live  on  that  wage,  he  laughed  and  said, 
'Of  course  you  can't,  but  hasn't  a  pretty 
girl  like  you,  a  friend?'  I  was  too  ignorant 
to  realize  that  I  had  been  insulted,  and  I 
went  for  a  while  longer  walking  blocks  upon 
blocks  to  save  car-fare,  standing  all  day  in 

100 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

broken,  and  sometimes  sopping  shoes,  and 
making  the  food  of  one  scant  meal  stretch 
out  to  cover  three.  I  used  to  wash  my 
clothes  at  night,  and  iron  them  in  the  gray 
dawn  of  morning.  One  day  I  was  selling 
some  expensive  lace  to  a  fashionable  woman. 
She  was  very  arrogant  and  hard  to  please. 
My  head  was  aching  and  I  made  a  slight 
mistake  in  the  price.  She  reported  me  to  the 
floor-man  and  I  was  fired.  The  next  morn 
ing  when  I  started  out  to  look  for  a  new  job, 
a  woman,  beautifully  dressed,  stopped  me 
and  spoke  the  first  kind  words  I  had  heard 
in  months.  She  sent  me  to  a  girls'  club  to 
get  warm  and  rested,  and  above  all  else,  to 
get  a  square  meal.  There  was  no  Detective 
Doyle  to  intervene  that  day,  and  I  fell  into 
the  trap." 

She  gave  a  bitter  laugh  and  got  up  and 
walked  to  the  window. 

"And  have  you  never  seen  any  opportu 
nity  to  make  a  change?"  I  asked. 

Beryl  laughed  harshly.  "Do  the  dead 
come  back?"  she  replied.  "As  well  for  us 
as  for  them  be  said  'That  bourne  from  whose 

101 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

shores  no  traveler  returns'.  Human  society, 
as  represented  in  the  church,  in  all  forms 
of  social-welfare  work,  in  business,  and  in 
the  state,  has  created  us  and  made  us  what 
we  are,  and  now  that  we  are  too  filthy  for 
them  to  touch,  they  use  the  ' system's  hand' 
to  push  us  back  in  hell  whenever  they  see 
climbing  out  a  suffering,  sorrowing  soul." 

There  was  silence  in  the  sumptuous  room 
for  many  minutes  before  I  could  bring  my 
self  to  speak.  The  vibrant  tones  of  Beryl 
seemed  to  be  the  voices  of  ten  thousand 
women  crying  out  the  tragedy  of  their  lives. 

"I  am  in  a  position  to  know,"  said  I,  final 
ly,  "that  there  is  a  raid  planned — I  believe 
it  is  to  take  place  tonight." 

Beryl  turned  quickly.  "A  raid  on  our 
houses?"  she  questioned. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "it  has  been  brought  about 
by  the  activity  of  the  Ministerial  Associa 
tion." 

The  irony  of  the  situation  struck  us  both 
and  we  smiled.  I  rose. 

"I  am  going  now,  but  will  see  you  in  the 
morning  if  you  are  compelled  to  appear  in 

102 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

court,  and  if  ever  a  way  opens,  try  to  come 
back." 

" There  is  no  way,"  she  replied,  and  I  left 
her  standing  there  with  a  look  of  utter  hope 
lessness  in  her  eyes. 

The  next  morning  witnessed  a  scene  in 
the  hall  of  justice  that  will  live  in  my  mem 
ory  as  long  as  life  lasts.  The  hall  was  an 
enormous  room,  holding  several  thousand 
people.  The  mayor  of  the  city  sat  on  a 
raised  platform  before  a  table  on  which  he 
constantly  hammered  with  his  gavel.  To  his 
right,  was  a  group  of  the  representative 
ministers  of  the  various  Protestant  denomi 
nations.  Their  spokesman,  a  prominent 
clergyman  of  a  fashionable  and  wealthy 
congregation.  The  reverend  gentlemen 
shifted  uneasily  in  their  chairs,  as  the 
criminals  were  brought  in.  There  were 
eleven  hundred  of  them.  Eleven  hundred 
girls  and  women.  Quietly  and  orderly  they 
filed  into  the  hall,  and  the  officers  who  were 
bringing  them  in  fell  back,  and  stood  with 
folded  arms  about  the  wall,  and  on  guard  at 
the  outer  doors. 

103 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

The  mayor  rapped  for  silence,  and  the 
great  crowd  of  curious  spectators,  which  had 
gathered,  ceased  talking,  and  after  the  un 
winding  of  a  certain  amount  of  red-tape,  the 
spokesman  for  the  Ministerial  Association 
rose  to  his  feet.  He  told  at  some  length  of 
the  evils  of  the  red-light  district,  known  in 
San  Francisco  as  "Barbary  Coast",  and  how 
a  year's  jail  sentence  apiece  was  the  least 
the  law  could  exact  from  a  prostitute.  This 
man  had  thrilled  his  congregation  on  the 
previous  Sunday  morning  with  a  scholarly 
sermon  on  the  text  "He  that  is  without  sin, 
let  him  cast  the  first  stone".  But  then  it  is 
so  easy  and  so  safe  to  preach  on  the  sins  of 
the  Jews  two  thousand  years  ago;  around 
the  Magdalene  of  that  time  they  put  a  pro 
tecting  arm;  around  her  descendant,  who 
passes  us  in  the  street  today,  they  would  put 
a  prison-wall  and  turn  in  scorn  away. 

When  the  minister  finished  his  denuncia 
tion  and  urged  that  the  chief  executive  of 
the  city  recommend  to  the  Judge  that  he 
pass  sufficiently  severe  a  sentence,  the 
mayor  turned  to  the  throng  of  women  wait- 

104  * 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ing,  and  asked  if  any  of  them  had  anything 
to  say. 

For  a  moment,  no  one  spoke,  then  I  saw 
Beryl  step  forward.  The  mayor  nodded  to 
her  to  proceed.  She  fastened  her  eyes  on  the 
minister  who  had  voiced  the  sentiments  of 
the  association  and  said  quietly: 

"Mr.  Ferndon,  you  have  called  us  many 
names.  There  seem  to  be  so  many  names 
for  such  as  we,  but  is  there  no  name  for  the 
Minister  of  the  Gospel  who  visits  us  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night  and  condemns  us  in 
the  light  of  day?" 

A  murmur  of  exclamations  were  heard 
throughout  the  court-room,  and  the  mayor 
rapped  sharply  for  order. 

Beryl  continued  in  a  sweet,  sad  voice,  in 
which  there  was  no  hate,  only  an  infinite 
weariness. 

"I  notice  that  you  men,  who  have,  corne 
here  in  the  long  black  coats  that  are  such  a 
protection  to  you,  and  who  have  tried  to 
make  us  feel  that  you  are  filled  with  a 
righteous  indignation,  are  hanging  your 
heads  in-  shame,  so  I  forbear  to  discuss  you 

105 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

further.  For  ourselves, "  and  here  she 
turned  to  address  the  mayor,  "I  would  say, 
your  Honor,  that  had  we  the  opportunity  to 
earn  an  honest  living,  we  would  avail  our 
selves  of  it,  but  there  is  110  such  chance, 
therefore  there  is  no  alternative  but  to  serve 
our  sentence. " 

Absolute  silence  reigned  for  a  second. 
Public  opinion  as  represented  in  the  court 
room  was  undergoing  a  change.  The  mayor 
realized  it,  and  he  used  that  diplomacy  that 
had  always  stood  him  in  good  stead. 

"You  say,"  said  he,  "that  had  you,  and 
the  others  with  you,  an  opportunity  to  earn 
an  honest  living,  you  would  take  it?" 

Beryl  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Very  well,"  replied  the  man,  rising  and 
raising  his  hand  in  a  dramatic  gesture.  "I 
am  going  to  give  it  to  you.  I  am  going  to 
take  you  women  at  your  word,  though  there 
are  riot  many  who  would  do  so.  I  shall  give 
each  and  every  one  of  you  your  chance." 
The  crowd  pressed  forward,  the  very  air 
was  tense  with  the  excitement  of  a  coming 
climax. 

106 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

'"  Listen  attentively  to  what  I  tell  you. 
Tomorrow  morning,  go  to  the  Globe  Depart 
ment  Store  on  Market  Street.  Give  the 
superintendent  there  your  real  names,  drop 
the  assumed  ones  you  have  used  in  the  past, 
and  he  will  assign  you  to  work.  I  can  guar 
antee  this,  because  I  am  the  president  of  the 
San  Francisco  Department  Store  Associa 
tion,  and  at  this  particular  store,  over  eleven 
hundred  women  walked  out  the  other  day, 
and  we  need  help."  He  didn't  add,  "and  the 
advertisement  that  this  will  be  will  tide  over 
any  loss  the  strike  has  caused  us." 

But  before  anyone  could  speak,  a  commo 
tion  at  the  back  of  the  hall  drew  the  atten 
tion  of  every  person  present.  A  man  had 
jumped  up  on  a  chair  and  his  clear  voice 
rang  out  like  a  clarion  call,  "No,  my  sisters, 
no !  no !  Better  go  back  to  the  red-light  dis 
trict  whence  you  came  than  become  strike 
breakers  and  go  scabbing  on  a  job.  If  you 
accept  the  mayor's  offer,  you  simply  ex 
change  one  house  of  prostitution  for  an 
other,  and  better  even  go  to  jail  than  take 
the  work  of  these  eleven  hundred  other  girls 

107 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  women  and  perhaps  drive  some  of  them 
to  Barbary  Coast." 

By  this  time,  the  chief  of  police,  who  was 
present,  caught  the  speaker  from  behind 
and  held  him  roughly  by  the  collar.  Before 
the  officer  got  him  to  the  door,  and  while  the 
court-room  was  in  a  wild  state  of  confusion, 
I  stepped  up  and  said,  "  Never  mind,  Earl, 
I  will  see  that  you  get  bond  as  soon  as  you 
are  arrested." 

"Why,  Stevey,  you  here?  What  does  this 
mean?" 

I  didn't  have  time  to  answer,  for  Beryl 
was  speaking  again,  and  the  mayor  was 
calling  loudly  for  order. 

"I  demand,  your  Honor,"  said  she,  "that 
before  we  are  taken  away  from  here,  this 
man  be  allowed  to  finish  what  he  had  to  say 
to  us.  He  called  us — sisters  and  I  want  to 
hear  his  message." 

Earl  was  in  the  habit  of  dealing  with  sit 
uations  as  he  found  them.  Direct  actionist 
that  he  was,  he  never  waited  for  permission 
— he  simply  broke  away  from  the  officer  who 

108 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

held  him  and  plunged  forward  to  the  plat 
form  where  the  mayor  sat. 

"I  am  the  chairman  of  the  strike  commit 
tee  of  the  organizat,  -IT  ihat  \vas  locked  out 
of  the  mayor's  depi  <ment  store  because 
they  asked  for  a  decen  'ivingwage.  I  know 
what  the  women  had  •  o  go  through  there, 
and  I  know  that  the  offer  of  this  man  is  a 
blind,  and  a  ruse  to  bring  you  down  to 
greater  humiliation.  To  drive  you  into  that 
whited  sepulcher  of  his,  already  filled  with 
dead  men's  bones,  would  mean  for  you  star 
vation  under  the  guise  of  respectability, 
and  the  driving  of  the  other  eleven  hundred, 
in  the  course  of  time,  to  take  up  that  other 
branch  of  the  mayor's  business,  where  they 
would  forsake  respectability  to  appease  the 
pangs  of  hunger."  He  paused  for  an  in 
stant,  then  hurried  on.  "You  see  here  dem 
onstrated  the  alliance  of  church  and  state 
and  big  business.  My  sisters,  they  are  all 
in  league  to  strike  the  weak." 

A  spontaneous  burst  of  applause  greeted 
these  remarks.  Earl's  words  had  set  the 
place  on  fire.  The  mayor  pounded  with  his 

109 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

gavel  until  the  thing  broke  in  his  hand.  He 
had  been  able  to  control  the  capitalistic 
press  but  he  couldn't  control  EarFs  tongue, 
and  the  public  was  bf  ^'g  informed  concern 
ing  conditions  of  wlieu/he  and  his  colleagues 
were  spending  millions  of  dollars  to  keep 
them  ignorant.  His  anger  was  intense,  but 
he  kept  his  head.  "'Tell  your  committee  to 
meet  with  me  this  afternoon,"  he  said  to 
Earl,  in  a  voice  of  assumed  carelessness.  "It 
m£y  be  that  we  can  come  to  some  settle 
ment."  Then  turning  to  the  Ministerial 
Association,  he  continued  briskly,  "Have 
you  gentlemen  anything  further  to  say?" 

Mr.  Ferndoii  coughed,  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
casting  a  reproachful  look  at  Beryl,  said,  in 
a  hurt  tone  of  voice,  "I  think,  your  Honor, 
that  there  has  been  too  much  said  already." 

"Well,  these  accused  were  brought  in 
here  at  your  instigation.  Do  you  still  insist 
that  they  merit  a  year  apiece  in  prison?" 

Mr.  Ferndon  waved  his  hand,  as  if  dis 
claiming  responsibility  for  the  whole  affair, 
and  replied,  "I  think,  your  Honor,  that 
whatever  you  see  fit  to  do  will  be  entirely 
satisfactory  to  us." 

110 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

" Quite  so,"  murmured  the  reverend 
chorus. 

One  of  them  looked  importantly  at  his 
watch,  "  I  have  an  appointment  with  the 
secretary  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,"  he  whispered. 
"It  might  be  just  as  well  for  us  to  be  go 
ing."  They  rose  and  walked  haughtily  out 
of  the  hall  of  justice.  The  mayor  looked 
after  them  with  an  expression  of  helpless 
ness,  as  if  he  were  deserted  in  his  hoar  of 
need.  Then  anger  took  possession  of  him, 
and  he  turned  wrathf ully  upon  Earl. 

"You  have  undertaken  to  advise  these 
women/'  he  said,  sarcastically.  "I  have  a 
good  mind  to  surrender  the  whole  eleven 
hundred  of  them  over  to  you." 

"I  accept  the  responsibility,"  replied 
Earl,  in  a  quiet  voice. 

The  mayor  smiled  cruelly.  Could  he  ask 
a  sweeter  bit  of  revenge  ? 

"Very  well,"  said  he,  "but  remember,  you 
are  held  under  penalty  of  the  law.  If  one  of 
them  is  caught  on  Barbary  Coast  again,  you 
are  the  one  who  will  serte  a  year's  sentence 
in  prison." 

Ill 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"I  am  not  afraid/'  said  Earl,  and  the 
women  who  saw  that  this  strange  man  was 
willing  to  assume  guardianship  over  them 
stared  into  one  another's  faces  as  if  waking 
from  a  nightmare.  In  all  the  world,  they  did 
not  know  of  one  friend  to  anyone  of  them, 
and  their  faith  in  humanity  which  had  died, 
was  resurrected. 

That  night  I  went  to  the  big  mass-meet 
ing  in  the  hall  rented  by  the  Retail  Clerks7 
Association,  and  presided  over  by  Earl,  who 
acted  as  chairman.  It  was  a  strange  com 
mingling  of  exploited  womanhood.  The 
ousted  employes  of  the  store  on,  Market 
Street,  and  the  women  who  had  had  their 
house  raided,  and  who  had  been  paroled  to 
Earl.  They  were  all  there,  and  each  one 
carried  a  tale  of  suffering  in  her  face. 
Poppy,  as  the  captain  of  her  picket-squad, 
sat  on  the  platform  with  Earl,  and  soon  after 
the  meeting  opened,  she  stepped  to  the 
front,  and  holding  out  her  hands  to  the  new 
comers,  said  in  a  sweet  girlish  voice : 

"Comrades,  we  welcome  you  here  tonight. 
We  are  all  trying  to  do  the  same  thing,  de- 

112 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

velop  our  class-consciousness,  and  earn  our 
daily  bread.  We  will  all  eventually  be  of  one 
mind.  Let  us  strengthen  the  solidarity  of 
the  worker,  and  strive  to  bring  about  the 
day  when  our  common  enemy,  the  industrial 
master,  will  no  longer  be  in  a  position  to 
prosecute  and  persecute  us/' 

She  sat  down  amid  the  hand-clapping  of 
1hose  present,  and  Earl  rose  and  directed 
his  remarks  to  the  assembled  clerks. 

"Sisters,  your  committee  met  with  the 
board  of  managers  of  the  Globe  Department 
Store  this  afternoon,  and  I  am  glad  to  be 
able  to  announce  to  you,  that  owing  to  a 
certain  amount  of  publicity  which  the  strike 
has  caused,  though  the  daily  papers  never 
once  mentioned  it,  the  managers  have  de 
cided  to  grant  your  demands.  In  addition  to 
the  real  issue  of  the  strike,  the  question 
came  up  concerning  the  necessity  of  putting 
more  clerks  behind  the  counters.  We 
showed  the  employers  that  every  employe 
was  doing  double  duty,  thus  endangering 
health  and  efficiency.  For  each  clerk  who 
went  out,  two  are  to  go  back,  and  we  are  to 
have  a  union-shop. " 

113 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

When  the  applause  these  words  brought 
forth  had  subsided,  Earl  turned  to  the  new 
comers  and  said: 

"My  sisters,  there  is  only  one  way  out  for 
you,  and  that  is  through  the  channels  of  or 
ganized  labor.  The  union  is  the  only  insti 
tution  on  God's  earth  that  will  fight  to  see 
to  it  that  you  get  a  chance  to  live.  There  are 
three  planks  in  our  platform:  wages,  hours 
and  conditions,  but  when  you've  said  that, 
you've  really  said  it  all,  except  that  we  are 
also  the  only  brotherhood  that  will  hold  out 
to  you  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  and  ask 
you  not  a  question.  Before  the  evening  is 
over,  we  will  receive  your  applications  to 
membership,  and  tomorrow  you  can  go  to 
work.  In  the  meantime,  are  there  any  wom 
en  present  who  would  be  willing  to  tell  us 
something  of  their  experiences  with  the 
powers  that  are  leagued  against  us?" 

Several  stood  up,  and  selecting  three  out 
of  the  number,  Earl  asked  them  to  come  to 
the  platform. 

"I  was  an  actress,"  said  the  first  to  speak. 
"I  had  a  very  dear  friend  in  the  daughter  of 

114 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

a  judge  who  lived  in  the  town  where  our 
stock  company  w^as  playing.  They  were 
wealthy  people,  and  I  used  to  like  to  go  to 
my  friend's  beautiful  home  whenever  I  had 
the  time,  for  I  was  away  from  all  my  kin, 
and  often  very  lonely.  Her  father  took  a 
fancy  to  me,  and  did  many  things  for  me, 
which  I  thought  were  done  because  I  was 
his  daughter's  friend,  but  in  reality,  he  was 
starting  to  bring  about  my  downfall.  One 
evening  he  told  me  to  meet  him  and  he 
would  take  me  out  to  his  home  in  his  car. 
Trustingly,  I  went  to  the  place  indicated, 
but  when  I  got  there,  I  was  greeted  by  a 
private  detective  who  arrested  me  on  a 
charge  of  immorality.  I  was  thrown  into 
jail,  and  the  next  morning  when  I  told  the 
Court  that  I  was  absolutely  innocent,  I  was 
laughed  at  and  turned  over  to  the  care  of  a 
rescue-mission.  Here  I  got  an  insight  into 
the  way  these  so-called  rescue  homes  are 
run.  The  day  I  was  taken  there  they  were 
out  on  the  street  soliciting  funds  for  fallen 
girls,  girls  as  innocent  as  I  was,  but  who 
were  being  handed  over  to  the  city  author- 

115 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ities,  one  by  one,  and  placed  by  them  in 
houses  where  no  one  ever  heard  from  them 
again.  The  man  who  took  from  me  every 
thing  I  had  was  a  well-known  contributor 
to  all  charitable  enterprises,  these  very  en 
terprises  being  usually  cloaks  to  cover  in 
iquity,  but  the  public,  reading  of  this  judge 
who  signed  large  checks  for  uplift  schemes, 
said  reverently,  *  There  goes  a  Godly  man'. 
It's  for  those  behind  the  scenes  to  know 
that  the  trees  are  only  made  of  canvas."  She 
sat  down  and  another  took  her  place. 

Such  a  sad-eyed,  sweet-faced  woman.  It 
didn't  seem  possible  that  those  names  which 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Ferndon  had  used  could 
have  been  applied  to  her. 

"When  I  was  a  little  child,  a  very  little 
child,  about  eight  years  old,  I  should  say, 
I  learned  all  of  the  evil  of  life  in  the  city's 
public  schools.  Later  I  became  a  teacher  in 
that  same  environment.  A  man  who  was  a 
member  of  the  Board  of  Education  gained 
my  confidence.  He  threatened  me  with  the 
loss  of  my  position  when  I  besought  him  to 
marry  me,  and  when  the  time  came  that  I 

116 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

could  no  longer  teach,  he  sent  me,  under  an 
assumed  name,  to  one  of  the  maternity 
homes  which  he,  as  an  influential  member 
of  the  community,  helped  to  maintain.  An 
other  child  of  his,  born  of  another  teacher, 
came  into  this  world  the  same  year  mine 
did,  but  owing  to  their  father's  political 
pull,  they  disappeared  simultaneously.  I 
wras  transferred  by  the  nurse  in  charge  of 
my  ward  to  what  they  called  another  sani 
tarium,  but  after  a  woman  has  once  entered 
there,  she  feels  that  she  can  never  come  out 
again.  People  on  the  outside  cannot  realize 
these  things.  They  would  not  believe  us, 
were  we  to  tell  them,  but  we  are  in  a  position 
to  turn  the  tables  for  all  time  if  they  only 
knew  that  our  revelations  are  the  awful 
truth. "  This  last  was  said  in  a  whisper,  and 
the  woman  sat  down  too  weak  to  go  on.  She 
was  dying  fast,  a  victim  of  the  great  white 
plague. 

A  pretty  factory  girl,  or  rather  she  had 
been  a  factory  girl  once,  was  the  last 
speaker. 

"I  was   coming  home   from   work   one 

117 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

night/'  she  began,  very  simply,  "and  was 
holding  tight  my  pay  envelope.  It  didn't 
contain  much,  but  it  meant  a  whole  lot  to 
my  sick,  widowed  mother  and  younger 
brothers  and  sisters.  There  were  seven  of 
us,  and  we  lived  in  a  miserable  little  four- 
room  flat,  and  it  took  us  all,  but  the  baby, 
contributing  a  few  dimes  a  week,  to  keep 
the  roof  over  our  heads.  Not  one  of  the  chil 
dren,  whose  ages  we  had  had  to  lie  about, 
but  worked  for  corporations  that  clear  mil 
lions  in  excess  profits  every  year,  and  we 
had  never  once  had  enough  to  eat  any  day 
in  our  lives.  Even  so,  we  would  have  been 
happy  together,  if  they  hadn't  reached  out 
and  snatched  me  from  my  poor  mother,  who 
has  since  died  of  a  broken  heart.  This  night 
I  was  coming  home,  a  man  whom  I  learned 
afterwards  was  a  paid  detective,  stopped 
me,  took  my  pay  envelope  from  me,  and  put 
me  under  arrest  for  a  crime  I  had  never 
even  heard  of.  When  he  showed  me  his 
badge,  I  thought  he  was  some  regular  officer, 
and  I  protested  my  innocence.  My  employer 
who  had  engaged  him  to  do  this  thing  came 

118 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

by  just  then  and  I  appealed  to  him,  but  he 
only  sneered  and  said  that  I  could  consider 
myself  discharged,  since  I  was  the  kind  that 
made  scenes  on  the  street,  and  he  directed 
the  man  to  take  me  to  jail.  While  there,  I 
was  placed  in  a  cell  with  three  other  women 
who  had  been  driven  to  such  depths  of  de 
spair  and  degradation  that  association  with 
them,  and  hearing  their  language  makes  a 
girl  almost  think  she  is  one  of  the  same  kind. 
I  know  now  that  this  is  a  very  common  prac 
tice  to  force  false  confessions,  and  to  make 
a  girl  believe  that  it  is  already  too  late  for 
her  to  ever  try  to  turn  back.  Still  I  declared 
my  innocence  when  I  was  brought  up  for 
trial,  but  what  is  the  word  of  a  penniless 
working-girl  against  a  frame-up'?" 

The  employes  of  the  store  were  weeping. 
It  was  all  so  terrible  and  so  true.  Earl  rose, 
and  stood  with  bowed  head  silent  for  a  mo 
ment.  Then  he  raised  his  eyes.  "And  this  is 
America,"  was  all  he  said. 


119 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  rainy  Sunday  morning  in  Chicago,  I 
looked  out  from  the  window  of  my  loop 
hotel  and  then  picked  up  a  time  table.  I 
could  le&ye  for  New  York  that  night,  and 
be  there  iii  time  to  attend  to  the  business 
that  was  bringing  me  East.  Then  a  strange 
feeling  came  \over  me.  It  was  almost  as  if  I 
could  hear  a  voice  saying,  "It  will  be  a  long 
time  before  you  leave  this  city."  I  stood 
watching  tHe  crowds  below  on  the  side 
walks,  the  bobbing  umbrellas  appearing  as 
so  many  huge  black  bugs  crawling  here  and 


I  wondered  if  there  was  a  soul  in  all  the 
great  city  whom  I  knew.  It  was  April,  the 
day  was  fairly  warm,  and  the  rain  fell  in 
cessantly.  To  the  East,  I  could  see  Lake 
Michigan,  and  for  a  moment,  it  made  me 
think  of  the  ocean  forever  breaking  on  the 
shores  of  California,  and  of  a  pair  of  eyes 
the  color  of  that  ocean. 

The  telephone  in  my  room  rang,  and  I 
picked  up  the  receiver. 

121 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Wire  for  you — it's  collect,  though/'  said 
the  hotel  clerk. 

"All  right,  send  it  up."  A  moment  later 
I  was  smiling  at  the  scrap  of  paper  which 
read:  "Saw  your  name  in  the  papers.  Want 
to  disclose  important  information.  Stay  in 
Chicago  till  I  get  there.  Wire  me  transpor 
tation.  (Signed)  Frank  White,  Eagles 
Pass,  Oregon." 

Was  some  one  merely  working  me  to  get 
a  free  fare  to  the  Mid- West  city,  or  was  it 
a  frame-up  to  trap  me  and  make  me  a  pris 
oner  ?  But  still  more  likely  it  wras  an 
arrangement  to  catch  and  .hold  me  long 
enough  to  propose  a  bribe  that  I  quit  opera 
tions  in  behalf  of  the  toilers  and  get  out  of 
the  county.  Whatever  it  was,  I  would  find 
out.  Money  spent  that  way  would  be  well 
invested.  I  wired  the  transportation,  and 
also  wired  New  York  that  I  was  delayed.  It 
was  the  next  evening  that  I  again  encoun 
tered  Earl.  He  had  told  me  when  he  left  San 
Francisco  that  he  might  make  Chicago  his 
headquarters  for  a  while,  but  I  had  lost 
track  of  him  during  the  months  that  I  re- 

122 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

mained  in  the  West — months  that  had  given 
me  many  glimpses  of  Poppy  in  the  store,  of 
Poppy  hurrying  to  and  from  work  in  the 
California  sunshine,  and  of  Poppy  smiling 
confidently  up  at  me  when  I  told  her  stories 
of  the  places  I  had  seen. 

When  I  came  across  Earl,  it  was  a  happy 
surprise.  I  had  drifted  into  a  meeting  on 
the  West  Side,  held  under  the  auspices  of 
the  Workers'  Institute.  Here,  the  men  and 
women  who  were  hungry  for  an  education, 
came  from  shop  and  factory,  after  the  long 
day's  work  was  over,  and  studied  the  rudi 
ments  of  English  and  Sociology,  of  History 
and  Economics,  and  listened  to  lectures  that 
would  have  put  to  shame  many  a  university 
professor,  in  point  of  accuracy  and  lucidity. 

Earl  was  just  finishing  a  brief  talk  on  the 
principles  of  trade-unionism.  I  caught  the 
words,  "A  man  said  to  me  the  other  day, 
'  You  have  no  right  to  fix  the  limits  of  the 
wages  the  employers  pay  the  employes ',  and 
I  answered,  'We  do  not  fix  them  going  up, 
only  going  down.  We  never  say  anything 
about  the  maximum,  we  only  stress  the 
minimum'."  123 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

When  he  saw  me  sitting  near  the  plat 
form,  he  hurried  down  and  took  me  affec 
tionately  by  the  hand. 

"Why,  Stevey,  this  is  fine.  When  did  you 
come  to  town?" 

I  explained  my  situation.  Earl  listened, 
then  linked  his  arm  in  mine,  and  together 
we  left  the  hall,  and  strolled  up  the  street. 
He  told  me  of  his  present  work  and  what  he 
hoped  to  accomplish. 

"I'm  with  the  garment- workers  now,"  he 
said.  "They're  organizing  rapidly,  but  it's 
awful  what  the  needle  trades  have  all  been 
through.  Every  strike  means  bloodshed, 
but  it  means  a  few  cents  more  in  pay.  The 
other  night,  I  saw  twenty  thousand  men  and 
women,  representing  seventeen  nationali 
ties,  marching  like  a  great  silent  army  away 
from  a  hall  that  they  had  rented,  and  which 
had  been  locked  in  their  faces,  and  they 
made  no  complaint;  their  endurance  is  some 
thing  magnificent,  but  they  are  hungry, 
Stevey,  they  are  hungry  all  the  time.  Some 
times  I  say  to  myself,  'How  long  can  a  hun 
gry  man  last?'  and  then  to  watch  them 

124 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

making  garments.  Some  day  the  piece 
work  system  will  have  to  go,  but  in  the 
meantime,  a  hundred  thousand  lives  will  go 
to  bring  about  the  transformation.  Stevey, 
they  speed  them  up  in  those  sweat-shops  till 
it  makes  your  heart  sick  to  see  it.  Half  the 
workers  have  consumption,  and  they  cough 
and  spit  all  day,  and  sew  like  mad  to  keep  a 
little  home  together,  a  home  that  means  a 
couple  of  dark  rooms  up  a  long  flight  of 
stairs.  When  you  go  in  and  strike  a  match, 
you  see  the  bugs  running  over  the  walls  and 
the  rats  scurrying  into  corner  holes.  Most 
likely  a  lot  of  little  kids  have  just  huddled 
together  all  day  waiting  for  the  parents  to 
come  home  from  the  factory  to  bring  them 
supper.  God,  if  the  bosses  only  treated  the 
poor  employe  as  well  as  they  do  their  ma 
chinery,  he  wouldn't  complain,  but  they 
don't,  'cause  they  keep  the  machinery  well- 
oiled  and  they  don't  keep  the  worker  well- 
fed." 

We  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  while,  and 
Earl  continued: 

"The  women  are  to  be  pitied  the  most. 

125 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

As  a  man,  I  can't  get  to  the  bottom  of  half 
the  trouble.  We  need  a  girl  to  work  among 
them.  I'd  like  to  get  that  little  San  Fran 
cisco  red-head  to  come  on  and  take  up 
organizing.  It  might  be  arranged.  You  re 
member  the  one  named  Poppy,  don't  you?" 

Remember  Poppy  ?  Had  I  ever  forgotten 
her  for  a  single  hour?  And  here  was  Earl 
speaking  in  his  usual  direct  way,  and  with 
out  a  particle  of  sentiment. 

" She'd  be  good  at  it,  don't  you  think  so?" 
he  went  on. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "I  think  she  would  be  good 
at  anything  she  did." 

"Awfully  bright  little  girl,"  he  added, 
and  then  went  back  to  the  subject  of  the 
struggle  of  the  unorganized  worker,  but  I 
didn't  hear  much.  I  was  thinking  of  the  girl 
named  Poppy,  and  how  Earl  had  called  her 
a  little  red-head. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  before  a  shabby 
frame  building,  and  compared  the  number 
above  the  door  with  one  written  on  a  scrap 
of  paper  which  he  held. 

"Steve,  this  is  where  I  have  to  make  a 

126 


THE    SY.-s       JM'S    HAND 

little   talk   tonL,  factory   of 

cigar-makers  was  locked  or  ^  other  day. 
There  is  no  branch  of  induci.r;r  in  which  the 
workers  are  paid  less  or  treated  worse. 
Come  on  up  with  me,  I  want  you  to  hear 
what  some  of  them  have  to  say.  They  are 
wonderful.  Such  patience,  such  endurance, 
in  the  face  of  privations  and  persecutions 
that  are  past  relating." 

We  ascended  a  narrow  creaky  stairway 
and  at  the  far  end  of  a  very  dirty  hall, 
turned  and  entered  a  dimly  lit  hall  where 
a  large  group  of  toilers,  both  men  and 
women,  and  comprising  several  nationali 
ties,  sat  and  listened  to  the  words  of  an  edu 
cated  Polish  boy,  who  was  speaking  in  Eng 
lish  and  with  great  fervor.  Dropping  into 
a  seat  beside  a  Slavic  woman,  who  was 
crocheting,  I  was  in  time  to  hear  him  say: 
"Andrew  Carnegie  has  made  millions  out  of 
the  steel  industry,  and  has  given  away  many 
of  these  millions  in  establishing  libraries  all 
over  the  country,  which  is  a  commendable 
thing  to  do,  for  we  all  appreciate  libraries, 
but  evidently  old  Andy  has  never  stopped 

127 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

to  consider  the  fact  that  these  millions 
which  have  built  the  libraries  have  been 
produced  by  the  workers  toiling  twelve 
hours  a  day  in  the  steel  mills.  It  is  pitiful 
that  it  hasn't  occurred  to  his  mind  that 
while  a  library  is  a  very  good  thing  indeed, 
the  workers  who  have  made  it  possible  for 
him  to  build  them  never  get  time  to  read  the 
books. 

"John  D.  Rockefeller  has  given  a  hun 
dred  million  dollars  to  the  founding  of  med 
ical  institutions,  which  is  undoubtedly  con 
tributing  to  a  noble  cause,  but  I,  a  poor  com 
mon  man,  with  a  common  brain,  a  mere  frag 
ment  of  the  great  piece  of  human  machinery 
which  has  made  possible  the  erection  of 
these  fine  laboratories,  cannot  help  asking 
why  Mr.  Rockefeller  did  not  spend  that 
hundred  million  dollars  in  building  clean 
and  sanitary  shops,  and  why  he  did  not  pay 
the  employes  a  living  wage  with  which  to 
buy  sufficient  nourishing  food  to  enable 
them  to  live  and  to  buy  habitable  homes 
where  disease  was  not  being  bred?  And 
when  I  stop  to  think  of  these  things,  I  real- 

128 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ize  how  the  Rockefeller  system  of  doing 
business  has  rendered  me  a  fit  subject  for 
the  great  white  plague  by  compelling  me  to 
labor  long  hours  in  a  filthy  factory  and  to 
live  in  a  hovel  rather  than  a  home ;  and  when 
I  go  for  an  examination  to  a  doctor,  trained 
under  the  Rockefeller  plan,  and  he  tells  me 
that  if  I  leave  at  once  for  Arizona  and  live 
according  to  the  highest  American  stand 
ards,  I  may  survive  for  six  months  or  per 
haps  a  little  longer,  and  I  haven't  a  cent  to 
do  it  on,  I  cannot  see  how  Mr.  Rockefeller's 
charity  has  done  me  a  w^orld  of  good. 

"I  look  about  and  observe  the  schools  and 
universities  this  wealthy  man  has  endowed, 
thus  making  his  name  famous,  and  don't 
misunderstand  me  and  think  I  don't  appre 
ciate  places  of  learning,  for  I  do,  so  do  all 
the  toilers,  but  what  breaks  our  hearts  is  to 
realize  that  it  has  been  made  impossible  for 
us  ever  to  attend  them.  I  am  only  a  common 
man  with  a  common  brain,  and  I  see  only 
with  the  eyes  of  experience  through 
which  I  have  passed,  and  I  know  that  it 
is  the  ambition  of  every  normal  young 

129 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

man  to  possess  a  home  for  his  wife  and 
children,  and  how  some,  by  almost  super 
human  efforts,  have  gone  to  the  outskirts 
of  town  and  acquired  a  start  in  this 
direction.  And  I  have  seen  how  a  little 
growing  family,  when  settled  in  this  newly 
realized  dream  to  which  a  mortgage  a  mile 
long  is  attached,  sees  each  year  a  hundred 
dollars  less  to  pay  on  the  cherished  home. 
And  when  the  oldest  boy  reaches  the  age  of 
fourteen,  without  ever  knowing  what  it  was 
to  have  enough  to  eat,  and  the  parents,  their 
hearts  aching  to  send  him  to  one  of  these 
fine  Rockefeller  colleges,  have  instead  to 
swear  out  a  false  statement  about  his  age 
so  the  boy  can  do  a  man's  work  in  a  sweat 
shop  to  help  with  the  final  payments  and 
prevent  a  forecolsure  of  the  mortgage,  I 
can't  get  very  enthusiastic  about  the  phil 
anthropy  of  the  ' richest  man  in  America'." 

A  fit  of  coughing  shook  the  speaker,  and 
he  held  a  handkerchief  to  his  mouth.  When 
he  took  it  away,  it  was  stained  with  blood. 

A  woman,  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
one  who  was  crocheting,  rocked  a  whimper- 

130 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ing  baby  in  her  arms,  and  buttoned  up  her 
dress,  across  her  empty  breasts.  "It's  no 
use  trying  to  nurse  him/'  she  remarked  to 
her  companion.  "We've  only  had  a  bit  of 
stale  rye  bread  in  the  room  for  days  and  my 
milk  is  all  dried  up." 

The  Polish  boy  had  regained  his  strength 
again,  and  though  very  pale  as  a  result  of 
the  hemorrhage,  went  on  speaking: 

"We  come  to  this  country,  we  foreigners, 
hearing  it  to  be  a  land  of  plenty  and  of  free 
dom,  but  the  treatment  accorded  us  is  worse 
than  that  accorded  cattle.  We  are  so  hope 
ful  when  we  come.  We  are  so  ambitious,  but 
the  rich  manufacturers  who  employ  us  say 
among  themselves,  'Well  keep  the  for 
eigner  down  and  that  will  keep  the  wages 
down'.  We  want  to  be  real  Americans  but 
they  don't  want  patriots — they  want  ma 
chines,  and  so  we  never  get  a  chance  to  de 
velop — we  only  get  a  chance  to  die." 

After  a  while,  Earl  brought  the  boy  over 
to  where  I  sat  and  introduced  him,  just  as 
Joe.  I  held  out  my  hand.  "It's  all  true, 
Joe,"  said  I,  "but  remember,  the  foreigner 
won't  die — there  are  too  many  of  him." 

131 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Three  nights  later,  the  man  White 
arrived,  and  I  met  him  as  I  had  wired  him 
I  would  do,  in  the  lobby  of  my  hotel.  He 
had  probably  seen  a  picture  of  me  some 
where  in  a  paper,  for  he  knew  me,  and  as  I 
came  into  the  crowded  lobby,  and  looked 
about  at  the  ever-shifting  panorama  of 
human  beings,  coming  and  going  through 
the  swinging  doors,  moving  swiftly  across 
the  tiled  space,  between  elevator  and  desk, 
here  today  and  gone  tomorrow,  this  stranger 
stepped  up  to  me,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  am  White,"  was  all  he  said,  and  with 
that  quick  intuitive  appraisal  of  a  man 
which  was  the  gift  bestowed  upon  me  by  a 
long  line  of  ancestors  who  had  been  proud 
to  call  themselves  detectives,  I  knew  I  had 
invested  well  when  I  had  sent  for  him  to 
come  to  Chicago. 

I  sought  a  secluded  corner,  and  we  sat 
down  on  the  heavily  upholstered  chairs.  I 
was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  that  en 
sued.  White  struck  me  as  a  man  who  would 
never  be  in  a  hurry  about  anything.  A  great 
leisureliness  enveloped  him.  He  was  a  frail, 

132 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

handsome  man  of  about  my  own  age  with 
prematurely  gray  hair  and  a  quiet,  thought 
ful  manner.  He  watched  the  restless  throng 
of  people  who  were  passing  back  and  forth 
just  out  of  ear-shot. 

"I  like  to  see  a  lot  of  men  and  women 
moving  freely,  each  intent  on  some  busi 
ness,"  said  he,  with  a  wistful  smile.  "There 
was  such  a  long  time  when  I  saw  so  little, 
only  just  thought  and  thought."  He  leaned 
back  in  the  big  chair  wearily  and  sighed.  I 
looked  at  his  well-worn  garments,  neat  but 
frayed,  and  considerably  out  of  date. 

"You  have  been  in  the  country?"  I  asked. 

"I  have  been  in  prison,"  he  answered. 

A  boy  called  loudly  the  name  of  a  wealthy 
New  York  man  he  was  paging.  A  band  of 
musicians,  concealed  behind  a  bank  of  arti 
ficial  palm  trees,  played  softly  the  popular 
airs  of  the  day,  and  two  society  women,  with 
an  inartistic  amount  of  rouge  on  their  faces, 
strolled  by,  laughing  gayly. 

"It's  an  experience  that  one  can't  de 
scribe,"  he  continued. 

"You  know  you  get  so  much  time  to  think 

133 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

in  those  long,  long  days.  You  are  shut  in 
by  high  stone  walls,  and  the  terrible  lone 
liness  of  the  life  gets  you  at  first.  Then  you 
begin  to  think.  It's  this  thinking — thinking, 
that  makes  a  philosopher  out  of  you." 

"But  tell  me,"  I  asked,  "how  did  you 
come  to  seek  me?" 

"Do  you  remember  arresting  that  rich 
banker  Vardoe  in  Southern  Washington,  for 
killing  a  young  girl,  when  an  innocent  man 
had  been  serving  a  sentence  for  fifteen  years 
for  an  act  he  knew  nothing  at  all  about? 
Well,  you  are  the  one  who  can  help  us  now." 

"Who  do  you  mean  by  us?"  I  asked. 

"There  are  six  others  still  in  prison — vic 
tims  of  the  same  frame-up  that  sent  me 
there.  I  swore  to  a  true  alibi  for  them,  and 
I  was  convicted  of  perjury.  They  are  in, 
serving  a  life  sentence  for  a  murder  com 
mitted  by  someone  else." 

"And  the  real  criminal?"  I  asked. 

"He  is  still  at  large.  It  was  like  this,  Mr. 
Doyle.  A  sheriff  of  the  county  in  which  I 
lived  had  been  killed.  Some  private  detec 
tives  testified  that  they  had  overheard  my 

134 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

comrades  and  myself  plotting  to  murder 
this  man,  and  the  mayor  of  an  adjoining 
city,  and  even  the  President  of  the  United 
States.  We  were  absolutely  innocent  of  any 
such  ideas,  but  we  belonged  to  an  organiza 
tion  that  was  feared  and  hated  by  the 
money-powered  element  and  hence  the 
frame-up.  Why,  Mr.  Doyle,  these  hired  de 
tectives  told  how  they  had  bored  holes  in 
the  wall  of  a  room  in  a  certain  hotel,  and 
had  listened  to  our  conversation,  when,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  none  of  my  comrades  nor  my 
self  had  ever  been  in  that  particular  build 
ing." 

White  then  went  on  to  tell  me  many  de 
tails  of  a  case  with  which  I  was  already 
familiar.  I  let  him  finish,  and  noted  how  ac 
curately  and  truthfully  he  spoke. 

Then  I  said,  "And  now  what  can  I  do 
for  you?" 

"For  me?  Nothing.  But  my  comrades — I 
want  you  to  get  them  out  of  prison." 

"White,  I  know  all  about  this  infamous 
story,  more  than  you  think  I  know.  I  can 
and  will  file  an  affidavit  exposing  the  alleged 

135 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

criminal.  This  will  bring  about  the  release 
of  your  friends,  but  I  am  not  in  a  position  to 
get  justice  meted  out  to  the  murderer  for 
the  fact  that  he  belongs  to  a  wealthy  society 
family,  and  is  part  owner  of  a  private  de 
tective  agency  renders  him  immune." 

White  nodded.  "I  know  that,  but  Mr. 
Doyle,  we  do  not  desire  to  see  him  punished 
— we  only  ask  for  our  own  liberty." 

"You  are  very  charitable,"  I  remarked. 

"Charitable?"  he  echoed.  "We  believe  in 
brotherly  love,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,  and 
remember  the  worker  builds,  he  doesn't  like 
to  tear  down." 

"And  will  you  now  go  back  to  work?"  I 
asked. 

White  shook  his  head.  "There  is  no  de 
cent  work  open  to  the  ex-convict,"  he  re 
plied.  "After  I  came  out  of  prison,  at  the 
end  of  a  long,  cruel  sentence,  for  simply  tell 
ing  the  truth,  I  found  that  every  door  was 
shut  in  my  face.  I  went  from  place  to  place. 
It  was  no  use.  Finally,  hungry  and  heart 
sick,  I  found  myself  engaged,  along  with 
fifty  other  ex-convicts,  to  go  into  a  lumber- 

136 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

camp  up  North  and  work  as  strike-breakers. 
None  of  us  realized  that  we  were  to  be  used 
for  that  purpose.  We  were  just  so  glad  to 
get  another  job  again. 

"The  conditions  under  which  the  men  had 
worked  were  something  past  describing.  I 
did  not  \vonder  that  they  had  struck,  but  we 
did  not  learn  this  at  the  time.  Later,  when 
we  found  out  that  they  were  on  strike,  I, 
with  some  of  the  others,  left.  In  a  bunk- 
house  of  very  small  dimensions,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  men  had  to  sleep.  The  beds  were 
merely  narrow  ledges  in  tiers  of  three 
around  the  sides  of  the  wall.  Every  one 
brought  in  his  own  blankets,  but  they  soon 
became  so  filled  with  vermin  that  to  wrap 
oneself  in  them  was  torture.  Four  tin  wash 
basins  were  all  that  the  hundred  and  fifty 
men  had  in  which  to  bathe,  after  they  came 
in  from  work  sweating  and  covered  with 
dirt.  The  stench  of  the  foul  towels  and  the 
three  hundred  socks  hanging  round  the 
stove  to  dry  was  almost  beyond  what  human 
beings  could  endure.  We  rose  and  ate  a 
frugal  breakfast  on  a  rough  board  table  by 

137 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

candle-light,  and  if  you  have  ever  been  in 
the  timber  lands,  you  know  what  the  day's 
work  meant/' 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  I,  and  then  I  told 
him  something  of  my  experiences  as  a  lad 
in  the  Minnesota  forests.  White  roused  him 
self  from  the  reverie  into  which  he  had 
fallen  while  listening  to  my  tales  of  the 
wrongs  and  agonies  of  the  workers,  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"I  have  no  way  of  thanking  you  for  what 
you  are  going  to  do  for  my  comrades,"  said 
he.  "I  even  had  to  ask  you  to  bring  me  here, 
but  some  day  I'll  pay  it  back.  I'm  a  car 
penter  by  trade.  Do  you  think  that  if  I  were 
to  go  under  an  assumed  name,  I  could  get 
work  here  in  Chicago?" 

"I'll  see  to  it  that  you  get  a  job,"  said  I, 
"but  remember,  you  owe  me  nothing." 

White  looked  at  me  with  a  gratitude  that 
was  beautiful  to  see. 

"My  comrades,"  he  said  softly.  "Mr. 
Doyle,  I've  wondered  and  wondered  what 
on  earth  I  could  ever  do  to  get  them  out,  and 
it  just  came  to  me  like  a  flash  one  day  that 

138 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

you  were  the  man  to  see.  If  you  hadn't 
sent  for  me,  I  would  have  started  in  walk 
ing  and  I'd  have  walked  until  I  found  you. 
I  heard  a  man  say  about  you  once,  'You 
can't  buy  Doyle'." 

I  thanked  him  for  these  words,  and  he 
said: 

"Some  day  won't  you  try  to  do  what  you 
can  to  abolish  the  third  degree?" 

"That  has  long  been  my  ambition,"  I  re 
plied,  and  he  continued: 

"It  was  so  terrible  the  way  they  treated 
us  after  we  were  taken  into  custody.  Being 
innocent,  we  had  nothing  to  confess,  but 
they  put  us  into  the  black  hole  or  dungeon, 
and  kept  us  there  for  forty-eight  hours,  as 
far  as  I  can  estimate,  without  food  or  drink. 
Then  they  took  us  out  one  by  one  and  placed 
us  in  a  room  where  six  detectives  prodded 
us  with  questions,  and  struck  us  heavy 
blows  in  the  face.  After  failing  to  get  any 
information,  we  were  again  herded  into  one 
cell  and  this  completed  the  once-over.  There 
were  twelve  of  us  at  this  time,  but  five  of 
the  men  contracted  pneumonia  soon  after 

139 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  persecutions  began,  and  died  in  prison. 
The  'twice-over'  was  then  tried  to  bring 
about  a  perjured  confession.  This  is  the 
sweat-box,  an  air-tight  compartment  ten  by 
ten  by  eight  feet  square.  The  steam  is 
turned  on  and  there  in  a  few  minutes  the 
prisoner  becomes  so  sick  and  faint  that  he 
falls  exhausted  to  the  floor,  and  in  that  at 
mosphere  he  lies  for  many  hours.  In  this 
weakened  condition,  he  is  again  questioned, 
and  oft-times  he  is  so  far  gone  that  he  will 
answer  'yes'  to  any  question  put  to  him.  I 
kept  a  tight  rein  on  myself,  however,  and 
refused  to  lie,  even  in  the  face  of  death. 
Then  comes  the  second  confinement  to  the 
cell,  and  another  period  of  torture  without  a 
particle  of  nourishment.  If  a  man  has  failed 
to  break  under  these  methods  of  obtaining  a 
confession  from  him,  he  is  submitted  to 
some  form  of  the  third  degree.  In  my  case 
it  consisted  of  being  stripped  and  tied  to  a 
wooden  cross  and  propped  against  the  wall. 
A  jail  physician  was  summoned,  and  he 
tested  my  heart  to  see  how  far  they  could 
safely  go  without  killing  me.  Then  attend- 

140 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ants  turned  the  fire  hose  full  force  upon  my 
naked  body  and  kept  the  pressure  up  until 
the  doctor  said  I  could  stand  no  more.  As  a 
great  modern  writer  has  said,  'The  secret 
horrors  of  the  prison  are  never  revealed  to 
the  outside  world'.  In  the  case  of  one  of  my 
comrades,  the  prosecuting  attorney  and  an 
other  man  took  him  into  a  padded  box  of  a 
room,  known  as  the  ' crazy  cell'  and  tying  a 
rope  about  his  neck,  told  him  to  sign  his 
name  to  a  paper  at  once  before  they  hanged 
him,  but  he  was  very  game.  So  weak  that 
he  could  not  speak,  he  shook  his  head,  for 
he  knew  the  paper  was  a  confession  of 
guilt/' 

As  I  sat  there  listening  to  White  speak 
ing  in  his  quiet  forceful  way,  his  voice  full 
of  the  emotion  that  he  felt,  I  thought  to  my 
self,  "a  few  more  years  and  this  evil  will 
be  abated",  but  as  late  as  Armistice  Day, 
1919,  which  found  me  still  in  Chicago,  the 
toilers  of  the  great  city,  the  industrial  cen 
ter  of  America,  were  being  subjected  to  the 
agonies  of  the  third  degree  and  there  were 
a  few  new  tortures  added  since  the  day  that 
White  had  told  of. 

141 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Come  here  tonight,"  said  I,  "and  I  will 
take  you  over  to  a  meeting  of  one  of  the  car 
penters'  locals  and  introduce  you  to  the 
president,  and  they  will  be  glad  to  receive 
you  and  take  you  into  the  union." 

Then  I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"White,"  said  I,  "I've  seen  a  good  deal  of 
life  in  my  time,  and  the  odds  are  so  fear 
fully  against  the  men  and  women  who  do  not 
belong  to  the  moneyed  class  that  I  would 
give  up  the  fight  for  them  as  a  losing  battle 
were  it  not  for  organized  labor." 

White  smiled.  "I  guess  you  didn't  know  I 
carried  a  card,"  said  he.  "But  it  makes  me 
glad  to  hear  you,  who  are  not  a  union  man, 
say  these  words." 

He  stood  watching  the  mass  of  palm  trees 
behind  which  the  musicians  were  concealed. 
They  were  playing  the  closing  number  of 
their  program,  "The  Last  Rose  of  Sum 
mer." 

"That  was  written  by  a  man  in  the  deatk 
chamber,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "and  you,  who  came  so 
near  to  being  placed  in  one  yourself,  have  no 

142 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

hatred  in  your  heart  for  anyone,  not  even 
your  enemies.  Where  did  you  learn  this 
breadth  of  view — this  humaneness?" 

White  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  I  went 
on:  " There  is  a  peacefulness  about  an  atti 
tude  of  mind  like  yours  and  a  constructive- 
ness  that  is  the  very  antithesis  of  all  de 
structive  doctrines.  You  seem  to  have 
reached  a  great  height  through  mental  and 
moral  development — can  you  account  for 
it!" 

Then  White  turned  and  looked  at  me  with 
his  thoughtful,  sorrowful  eyes,  and  an 
swered  very  simply,  "Mr.  Doyle,  I  am  a 
product  of  poverty  and  persecution,  but 
like  the  majority  of  exploited  workers  I 
have  undergone  a  spiritual  transformation 
even  when  my  poor  body  cried  for  food  and 
flinched  from  blows.  With  my  suffering 
brothers  and  sisters  the  world  over,  we  are 
too  busy  trying  to  help  each  other  out  of 
misery  to  stop  and  plan  and  plot  revenge." 


143 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Mrs.  O'Brien  smoothed  the  sheet  that 
covered  the  tossing  little  form  on  the  bed, 
and  choked  to  keep  back  the  tears  that 
would  fall.  The  cars  on  Cottage  Grove  Ave 
nue  clanged  noisily  past  the  dingy  basement 
flat.  Children  playing  on  the  sidewalk 
screamed  and  quarreled,  and  the  heat  of  a 
summer  night  in  Chicago  made  breathless 
all  the  air. 

"He's  a-dying,  Mr.  Doyle,"  the  poor 
mother  murmured  more  than  once.  "He's 
a-going  just  like  little  Margy  went  that  first 
summer  after  we  come  to  Chicago.  Oh,  my 
God,  I  can't  give  up  my  baby,  seems  like  I 
just  can't,  Mr.  Doyle.  Tell  me,  what  shall 
I  do?  What  shall  I  do?" 

"It's  so  hot  in  here,"  said  I.  "Perhaps  if 
I  were  to  carry  him  out  on  the  steps  and  sit 
there  with  him  in  my  arms,  he'd  get  a  breath 
more  of  air." 

The  baby  opened  his  heavy  eyes  and 
looked  up  at  me ;  a  smile  flickered  across  the 

145 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

pinched  little  face,  and  he  tried  to  hold  out 
his  thin  white  hands. 

"See,"  said  I,  "he  heard  us  and  wants 
to  go." 

I  stooped  and  lifted  the  tiny,  emaciated 
form  and,  followed  by  the  mother,  who  car 
ried  a  ragged  pillow,  we  went  out  into  a 
dark  hall-way,  up  a  few  steps  and  into  a 
scrap  of  a  court-yard,  where  the  smoke  of 
years  had  settled,  and  where  the  refuse  of  a 
dozen  families  who  occupied  the  tenement 
house  had  accumulated.  I  pushed  some 
rusty  tomato  cans  off  a  dirty  soap-box,  and 
sat  down  with  the  dying  child  in  my  arms. 
Overhead,  the  clear  blue  sky  and  the  stars 
that  I  had  loved  and  studied  as  a  boy.  Poor 
little  lad — born  and  struggling  for  a  short 
year  and  a  half  in  this  tenement  district 
would  soon  be  knowing  the  secrets  of  the 
firmament.  The  other  O'Brien  children,  all 
under-nourished,  romped  or  fretted  about, 
as  the  mood  suited  them.  The  mother  talked 
with  a  woman  who  leaned  from  an  upper 
window  and  who  advised  her  what  to  do. 

"Ain't  the  doctor  coming  back  again'?" 
she  called,  shrilly. 

146 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"He  said  it  warn't  no  use,"  answered 
Mrs.  O'Brien.  "We  owe  him  an  awful  lot 
now." 

After  a  while  the  father  came  home  from 
work.  One  noticed  not  the  greasy  overalls, 
the  toil-worn  hands  that  clutched  a  tin  din 
ner  pail,  but  his  anxious  frightened  counte 
nance. 

"How  is  he  tonight?"  he  whispered  gent 
ly,  as  he  gazed  down  on  the  sleeping  child. 
I  didn't  answer  because  I  couldn't.  He 
stroked  the  little  form  tenderly,  and  then 
he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"It's  mighty  good  of  you,  Doyle,  to  take 
such  an  interest  in  the  baby." 

"This  house  is  all  the  home  I've  got," 
said  I.  "Ever  since  I  came  to  room  here, 
I've  watched  over  this  little  chap  and  it  al 
ways  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  a  bit  too 
fine  for  this  tough  old  world.  O'Brien,  he 
is  going  to  miss  a  lot  of  misery.  Can't  you 
bring  yourself  to  look  at  it  that  way?"  But 
he  only  shook  his  head,  and  the  tears  ran 
down  his  cheeks. 

"No,  I  can't,"  he  replied.   "If  he  goes, 

147 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

I'll  always  be  thinking  how  he  didn't  get  his 
chance.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  a 
father,  Doyle.  Our  children  is  all  the  wealth 
we  workers  got,  and  when  they  take  them 
from  us,  we  see  red  for  a  while,  that's  all. 
I've  been  there  before,  and  I  know." 

Back  and  forth  through  the  narrow  lit 
tered  court-yard,  the  inmates  of  the  big 
brick  tenement  house  kept  passing.  Two 
young  girls  who  worked  in  a  nearby  laun 
dry  stopped  to  inquire  for  the  baby. 

"Gee,  ain't  this  heat  something  awful?" 
said  one. 

"Seems  like  we  ought  to  be  able  to  stand 
it  after  that  mangle  room  all  day,"  re 
marked  her  companion.  "Come  on,  I've  got 
a  date  with  a  kid  what's  going  to  set  us  up 
to  a  couple  of  ice-cream  cones, — so  long,  Mr. 
Doyle,"  and  they  sauntered  off,  trying  to 
make  the  best  of  poverty,  which  is  ever  the 
way  with  youth,  but  O'Brien  only  stared 
ahead  of  him,  and  in  his  eyes  was  that 
haunted,  hopeless  look  which  comes  to  those 
who  have  fought  and  fought  and  never  won. 

"A  machinist  gets  paid  so  little,"  said  he, 

148 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"and  they  got  so  much  to  pay  us  with.  Why, 
Doyle,  I  work  twelve  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four  for  a  company  that's  composed 
of  millionaires,  and  though  I'm  a  skilled 
workman,  I  can't  make  enough  to  feed  the 
wife  and  children.  This  baby  began  failing 
when  we  had  to  cut  down  on  his  milk  supply, 
and  the  little  we  got  soured  'cause  the  ice 
man  don't  come  up  this  block,  a  block  that's 
got  two  hundred  and  fifty-three  children  in 
it.  Just  think  of  that,  only  last  week  they 
counted  two  hundred  and  fifty-three. " 

The  next  morning  the  total  was  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty-two,  and  the  O'Brien  baby 
was  finding  out  about  the  starry  heavens 
and  would  never  have  to  trouble  with  the 
moral  law.  Mrs.  O'Brien  sat  by  the  little 
form  that  lay  so  still  now,  and  smoothed  the 
sheet  as  she  had  done  the  previous  night 
when  the  baby  tossed  with  the  heat.  She 
sobbed  piteously  and  the  older  children, 
huddling  in  a  corner  of  the  scantily  furn 
ished  room,  were  awed  into  silence  for  the 
first  time  in  their  short  lives.  The  majesty 
of  death  rested  upon  the  whole  house,  and 

149 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

men  and  women  came  and  went  on  tiptoe, 
and  softly  offered  the  mother  what  consola 
tion  lay  within  their  power  to  give.  But  the 
father  neither  wept  nor  said  a  word.  There 
was  a  terrible  stillness  in  the  way  he  bore 
his  grief.  It  was  as  if  the  oppression  and 
the  wrongs  of  all  his  lifetime  were  met  and 
set  before  his  face  in  the  passing  out  of  his 
little  boy,  and  I  observed  him  anxiously,  for 
I  realized  that  he  had  reached  the  point 
when  strong  men  break. 

That  night  a  man  was  arrested  for  boldly 
entering  a  hall  in  the  fashionable  part  of 
town  where  a  great  charity  ball  was  in 
progress,  and  calmly  shooting  down  the  man 
who  led  the  grand  march.  He  was  not  fatal 
ly  wounded,  but  the  papers  came  out  in 
glaring  headlines  the  following  morning 
with  the  news  that  the  wealthy  and  charita 
bly-inclined  Mr.  Blank,  who  had  been  active 
in  arranging  for  the  success  of  a  ball  given 
for  the  benefit  of  convalescing  children  of 
the  poor,  was  attacked  by  a  man  named 
O'Brien,  one  of  Mr.  Blank's  employes.  The 
man,  a  machinist  by  trade,  was  evidently  de- 

150 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

mented,  as  no  motive  could  be  ascribed  for 
the  act.  It  was  well-known  how  "good"  the 
company  of  Blank  &  Blank  was  to  its  work 
men  and  how  many  charities  there  were  in 
connection  with  the  business.  They  had 
thought  of  everything  from  a  rest-cottage 
for  the  girls  who  broke  down  at  the  ma 
chines,  while  working  piece-time,  to  this 
latest  idea  of  a  sanitarium,  where  little  sick 
ly  children  might  be  taken  to  die  in  beauti 
ful  surroundings  or  else  be  cured  and  sent 
back  to  the  tenements  again.  But  what  was 
the  use  of  trying  to  do  anything  for  the 
toilers  anyway,  they  were  so  unapprecia- 
tive. 

From  his  cell,  while  waiting  trial,  O'Brien 
looked  out  of  the  barred  window  at  the  hour 
he  knew  a  little  hearse  with  a  few  mourners 
behind  it  would  be  passing  on  its  way  to  the 
cemetery.  He  heard  the  whistle  blow  that 
should  have  summoned  him  to  work,  and  he 
counted  over  in  his  mind  the  contents  of  the 
thin  pay  envelope  that  he  brought  home  on 
Saturday  nights.  It  was  no  use.  There  was 
no  way  out.  He  bowed  his  head,  crushed, 

151 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  from  his  heart  there  went  out  a  cry  that 
for  the  toilers  such  as  he,  the  new  day  would 

dawn,  some  how,  some  way. 
#     *     #     *     * 

The  summer  dragged  on,  and  I  continued 
working  "under  cover"  finding  out  more 
and  more  each  day  of  the  sufferings  of  the 
poor — poor  because  the  affairs  of  govern 
ment  lay  in  the  hands  of  an  autocratic  few 
who  were  hoarding  all  the  wealth  of  the 
land,  with  the  exception  of  what  they  spent 
on  their  own  backs,  and  what  they  paid  out 
to  the  "system's  hand"  to  keep  the  worker 
ignorant,  under-nourished,  and  afraid. 

There  was  just  one  mistake  they  made — 
one  fortification  they  failed  to  fortify.  They 
neglected  to  replenish  their  ranks  with  men. 
Wealthier  and  wealthier  they  became  each 
year,  but  fewer  and  fewer  in  number,  and 
the  producer  of  the  wealth  became  more 
poverty-stricken  with  the  advance  of  every 
year,  but  he  multiplied  until  the  toilers 
swarmed  in  masses  of  exploited  human  be 
ings  all  over  the  United  States.  The  women 
who  had  worked  in  shop  or  factory  all  day, 

152 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  had  done  their  house-work  at  night,  had 
still  found  strength  to  give  sons  and  daugh 
ters  to  their  country,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty 
of  them  to  a  block  is  a  safer  investment  for 
the  future  than  one,  or  perhaps  two,  pamp 
ered  poodle  dogs. 

During  the  early  part  of  August,  Poppy 
came  to  Chicago.  Earl  had  written  several 
times,  but  the  girl  had  replied  that  she  was 
satisfied  to  stay  on  in  San  Francisco  at  the 
store.  Then  an  aunt,  her  only  living  rela 
tive,  who  worked  in  a  West  Side  plant,  lost 
the  use  of  her  hands  in  manipulating  some, 
machinery,  and  crippled  and  unable  to  care 
for  herself,  sent  for  her  niece  to  come  to  her 
aid. 

During  July  I  had  roomed  in  that  section 
of  the  city  known  as  "death's  corner",  a 
part  of  the  Nineteenth  Ward  where  the  very 
poorest  of  the  poor  are  to  be  found.  In 
August  I  moved  into  the  Fourteenth  Ward, 
and  settled  down  in  a  cheap  little  room  on 
Lake  Street. 

Here  it  was  that  Fate  again  let  Poppy's 
path  cross  mine. 

153 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

I  found  her  in  a  squalid  apartment,  sur 
rounded  by  a  group  of  big-eyed  foreigners, 
talking  to  them  on  a  hot  Sunday  evening. 
They  were  comparing  notes  about  the  places 
they  had  all  come  from.  An  Italian  was  de 
scribing  Sunny  Italy,  and  declaring  that  it 
was  the  most  beautiful  country  in  the  world, 
but  Poppy  had  laughed  and  told  him  he 
hadn't  seen  California  yet  or  he  wouldn't 
think  that.  "The  flowers  out  there,"  she 
was  saying,  "why,  they  grow  in  rows  on 
either  side  of  the  sidewalk;  but  in  Chicago, 
I  only  see  a  few  in  the  florist's  window.  And 
the  fruit  out  there — it  is  so  plentiful,  but 
here " 

A  woman  leaning  against  a  fire  escape  to 
watch  a  little  child  who  was  sleeping  there, 
turned  quickly  and  held  up  her  hand  in 
warning.  She  had  seen  me  enter  the  hall 
way  and  had  taken  me  for  a  plain-clothes 
man.  The  homes  of  the  very  poor  were  con 
stantly  raided  and  arrests  made  on  no 
grounds  whatsoever.  A  neighborly  gather 
ing  was  called  a  meeting  of  revolutionists, 
and  any  literature  in  a  language  that  the  de- 

154 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

tectives  could  not  interpret  was  seized  and 
confiscated — often  the  well-worn  pamphlets 
turned  out  to  be  little  books  of  devotion. 
Even  a  man's  religion  must  be  regulated  in 
a  country  that  the  pioneers  had  fought  to 
make  free.  Anything  of  a  political  nature 
was  considered  seditious,  and  a  certain  man 
who  was  caught  reading  a  copy  of  the  Dec 
laration  of  Independence  printed  in  the 
Lithuanian  tongue  was  put  in  jail  as  a  sus 
pected  anarchist. 

But  particularly  was  all  persecution 
aimed  at  organized  labor — union  offices 
were  ruthlessly  invaded,  and  safes  broken, 
and  books  taken. 

Frightened  and  bewildered,  these  men  and 
women  ceased  talking  and  looked  at  me  in  a 
sullen  manner.  I  crossed  right  over  to 
where  Poppy  sat. 

"Earl  told  me  I  might  find  you  here,"  I 
said,  with  a  smile  of  happiness  I  could  not 
conceal. 

P°PP7  jumped  up  with  a  glad  little  cry. 
"0,  Mr.  Doyle,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you 
again."  Then  she  turned  to  the  others: 

155 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"This  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  she  said, 
by  way  of  introduction,  and  they,  with  that 
child-like  trust  and  yearning  desire  for 
friendship,  which  is  always  present  among 
the  elemental  people,  welcomed  me  to  their 
midst  with  a  graciousness  that  is  not  possi 
ble  to  those  who  wear  a  cloak  called  "man 
ners"  but  which  covers  a  heart  that  is  with 
ered  up  and  dry.  I  have  found  not  only  more 
true  kindliness  of  spirit,  but  more  exquisite 
tact  and  courtesy  among  those  men  and 
women  who  produce  the  world 's  wealth  than 
among  those  who  spend  it.  I  can  speak  with 
the  authority  of  Mark  Twain,  when  he  said. 
"Honesty  is  the  best  policy.  I  know,  'cause 
I've  tried  them  both." 


156 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Indian  summer  came  and  went  and  the 
winter  was  upon  us  before  we  realized  it. 
Winter  means  such  different  things  to  the 
rich  and  to  the  poor.  I  used  to  watch  the 
cars  drive  up  to  the  big  State  Street  stores 
and  the  women  step  out,  well-wrapped  in 
expensive  furs,  to  do  a  morning's  shopping. 
I  used  to  watch  them  spending  on  some 
trifling  luxury  enough  money  to  keep  a 
little  family  in  the  house  where  I  lived  warm 
and  well-fed  for  a  week,  and  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  how  it  was  the  father  of  the  cold 
and  hungry  family  who  had  made  the  money 
the  idle-rich  woman  was  spending.  I  used 
to  watch  the  same  woman  fritter  her  after 
noon  away  at  a  silly  little  club  or  tea,  and 
Poppy,  the  girl  I  loved,  was  working  until 
long  after  dark  in  a  close  shop  back  of  a 
millinery  store,  making  and  trimming  hats 
and  thus  earning  enough  to  provide  for  her 
own  slender  wants  and  those  of  the  poor 
afflicted  aunt. 

157 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

By  the  passing  of  the  workman's  compen 
sation  act,  a  woman  injured  while  at  her  ma 
chine,  as  this  one  was,  should  have  received 
a  few  dollars  each  week  for  a  while  to  come, 
the  sum  being  about  half  the  amount  of 
what  her  wages  had  been.  She  was  totally 
disabled.  She  would  never  be  back  in  the 
unventilated  work-shop  again,  but  the  com 
pany's  surgeon,  who  attended  her,  testified 
that  he  had  only  had  to  amputate  the  first 
phalanx  of  each  finger  of  her  two  hands  and 
as  the  damage  paid  for  a  lost  phalanx  is 
very  trifling,  the  destroyed  ten  did  not  buy 
a  month's  bread.  An  employe,  in  a  situation 
like  this  aunt  of  Poppy's,  is  not  allowed  to 
have  a  physician  of  her  own  choosing  to  tell 
her  side  of  the  story,  to  explain  to  a  judge 
that  she  is  crippled  for  life,  and  that  the 
accident  occurred  through  gross  negligence 
on  the  part  of  the  firm  for  whom  she  labored. 
She  was  simply  at  the  mercy  of  a  huge  mod 
ern  Juggernaut,  and  a  Juggernaut  has  no 
mercy. 

One  night  just  before  Christmas,  Poppy 
and  I  were  hurrying  along  West  Madison 

158 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Street.  It  is  that  part  of  town  where  the 
dingy  little  rescue  missions  are  to  be  f  ound 
and  the  overflowing  employment  agencies 
and  the  cheap  second-hand  stores. 

Poppy  was  looking  for  a  coat  for  her 
aunt,  and  not  paying  any  attention  to  the 
flimsy  half -cotton  one  she  wore  herself.  She 
laughed  with  the  delight  of  a  child  over  the 
softly  falling  snow. 

"It  is  the  first  I  have  ever  seen,"  said  she, 
"and  I  think  it's  so  beautiful.  Look  how  all 
the  mud  and  the  dirt  has  been  covered  up 
with  a  pure  white  blanket." 

Women  with  shawls  over  their  heads  hur 
ried  by  and  men  with  thin  coats  on  crept 
into  corner  saloons  to  seek  a  cheerful  stove. 
When  we  got  into  the  crowded  street-car, 
Poppy  tried  to  hide  her  wet  shoes  under  the 
seat,  and  laughed  again  at  my  concern  over 
her  health. 

"I'm  strong — nothing  can  hurt  me,"  she 
said.  "Don't  you  know  that  California 
people  are  raised  so  much  out  of  doors  that 
they  are  pretty  nearly  always  well?  But, 

159 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Mr.  Doyle,  I  am  worried  about  a  family  on 
the  top  floor  where  Aunty  and  I  live." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "what  about  them?"  and 
I  noticed  that  with  all  the  frostiness  of  the 
air,  Poppy's  cheeks  were  not  so  rosy  as  they 
had  been  in  the  days  when  she  lived  and 
worked  in  her  beloved  native  state. 

"They  are  Hungarians,"  she  said,  "and 
new-comers  to  the  city.  They  don't  seem  to 
know  anyone  and  they  are  very  shy.  Natur 
ally  I  don't  like  to  intrude  on  them,  but  I 
just  know  that  something  is  wrong  up  there, 
for  Helen  is  crying  every  time  I  pass  her  in 
the  hallway  or  on  the  stairs,  but  she  shakes 
her  head  when  I  ask  her  what's  the  matter, 
and  hurries  on.  I  suppose  she's  afraid  to 
trust  anyone." 

"And  who  is  Helen?"  I  asked. 

"O,  she's  the  little  mother  to  the  rest  of 
the  children.  There  are  several  of  them,  all 
younger  than  Helen,  and  she  must  be  about 
twelve,  I  guess." 

"The  parents  both  go  out  to  work,  of 
course?" 

"Yes,  the  father  has  a  job  in  a  foundry, 

160 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  the  mother  works  in  a  box-factory,  but 
they  make  so  little,  and  lately  they  have 
been  sick  and  are  not  working  at  all.  I'm 
sure  the  children  must  be  hungry.  Tell  me, 
Mr.  Doyle,  isn't  there  some  philanthropic 
society  to  whom  we  could  appeal  in  a  case 
like  this,  and  get  a  little  temporary  help  for 
that  poor  family  f 

I  smiled.  "Poppy,"  said  I,  "little  Helen 
is  older  than  you  think.  She  knows  instinc 
tively  that  should  she  let  the  public  chari 
ties  take  hold  of  her  home,  there  wouldn't 
be  any  home.  They  would  turn  in  a  report 
that  the  parents  were  shiftless;  at  any  rate, 
the  children  would  be  taken  from  them,  and 
put  into  some  kind  of  institutions,  the  apart 
ment  fumigated,  and  that  would  be  the  end 
of  it." 

Poppy  sighed.  "Everything  closes  in  on 
the  toilers.  Doesn't  it  seem  as  if  they  had 
cried  out  long  enough  from  pitiful  homes, 
and  filthy  workshops,  from  cold,  dark  alleys 
and  from  prison  cells  to  a  God  or  someone 
who  would  hear  them?"  Poppy's  eyes  were 
full  of  tears,  and  there  was  a  ring  of  passion 

161 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

in  her  voice.  Two  or  three  people  turned  to 
look  at  the  girl  whose  youth  and  prettiness 
made  her  more  attractive  than  she  realized. 

" Let's  get  off  here,  Poppy,"  said  I,  "and 
then  walk  the  rest  of  the  way." 

Crunching  the  snow  under  our  feet,  I 
tried  to  answer  Poppy's  question.  "It's  like 
this,"  said  I,  "a  nation  must  suffer  a  long 
time  before  the  people  are  delivered,  but  be 
sure  the  New  Day  is  coming.  We  none  of 
us  know  yet  just  howT  or  when,  only  as  cer 
tain  as  ancient  Rome  fell  when  it  had 
reached  its  height  of  debauchery,  will  those 
who  are  now  in  power  in  America  be 
dragged  in  the  dust.  No  civilization  can 
flourish  forever  that  is  built  on  a  rotten 
foundation,  and  supported  with  the  money 
which  has  come  from  the  grinding  of  human 
flesh  and  machinery  into  one." 

We  reached  the  frame  tenement  where 
Poppy  lived,  and  she  stopped  for  a  moment 
and  looked  up  at  it.  "Even  this  awful  old 
building,  so  filled  with  misery,  is  beautiful 
tonight  with  the  fresh  snow  on  it,  isn't  it?" 

I  nodded,  and  we  went  inside.  Poppy  and 

162 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

her  aunt  had  a  room  on  the  third  floor  in 
the  rear,  but  we  climbed  the  creaking  stairs 
to  the  fourth  floor  where  the  Hungarian 
family  managed  to  exist  in  two  rooms,  and 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  get  our  breath.  The 
house  was  bitterly  cold,  and  full  of  smells; 
cabbage,  onions  and  garlic  were  being 
cooked  behind  a  dozen  dirty  doors,  some 
times  one  would  push  open  a  little  ways, 
and  a  gaunt  face  would  peer  out  behind  the 
smoking  kerosene  lamp.  Poppy  knocked  at 
the  door  where  her  little  friend  Helen  lived, 
and  after  receiving  no  response,  we  turned 
the  knob  and  felt  our  way  in. 

"Helen,"  Poppy  cried,  brightly.  "It  is  I 
— Poppy  Grant,  from  down-stairs.  Where 
are  you?" 

A  smothered  sob  indicated  where  she  was, 
and  I  turned  my  flashlight  in  that  direction, 
and  saw  a  pitiful  group  of  children  huddled 
against  the  wall  in  one  dark  corner.  There 
were  five  of  them,  and  their  little  faces  were 
so  filled  with  fear,  and  they  had  evidently 
gone  so  long  without  food,  that  they 
appeared  scarcely  human.  I  struck  a  match, 

163 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  lighting  a  bit  of  candle,  which  I  had 
learned  to  carry  in  my  pocket,  I  left  the 
children  to  Poppy.  Something  WAS  wrong, 
and  it  was  even  more  wrong  than  the  sight 
in  the  first  room  we  had  entered.  I  made 
my  way  to  the  back-room,  with  the  aid  of 
the  flashlight,  to  the  spot  where  the  odor 
was  leading  me.  It  was  as  I  thought.  On 
the  bed  lay  a  man  and  women  desperately 
ill,  both  delirious,  and  racked  with  fever, 
and  between  them  lay  the  body  of  a  child 
who  had  been  dead  for  three  or  four  days. 
He  was  about  two  years  old,  and  had  evi 
dently  died  of  the  same  disease  that  was 
fast  devouring  the  parents. 

I  heard  Poppy  trying  to  comfort  the  little 
ones  in  the  other  room.  I  heard  a  man 
mounting  the  stairs  outside  with  dragging 
feet,  and  slam  a  door  as  he  went  into  his 
own  home.  A  moment  later,  and  a  piercing 
shriek  rent  the  air.  It  was  a  cry  that  I  was 
becoming  accustomed  to — it  was  the  cry 
that  a  woman  gives  as  she  enters  the  valley 
of  the  shadow,  and  I  listened  for  that  other 
sound  and  soon  it  came — the  first  thin  wail 
of  the  newly-born. 

164 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

The  men  and  women  on  the  Gold  Coast 
are  banqueting  tonight,  I  thought  to  myself, 
and  here,  as  Poppy  had  said,  'How  much 
longer  could  it  all  go  on?' 

That  same  night,  the  little  Hungarian 
children,  led  by  Helen,  had  descended  to 
Poppy's  room,  and  she  had  made  them  pal 
lets  on  the  floor.  The  parents  never  regained 
consciousness,  and  when  the  county  under 
taker,  whom  I  had  notified  of  the  child's 
death,  finally  came,  he  and  his  assistant  car 
ried  down  three  baskets.  That  was  the  last 
we  ever  saw  of  them,  but  I  found  out  later 
that  the  bodies  were  sold  for  a  large  sum  to 
a  medical  college,  and  the  county  under 
taker,  who  had  secured  the  contract  for 
burying  paupers,  put  in  his  customary  bill, 
and  received  his  voucher. 

Towards  morning,  when  I  could  be  spared 
from  other  things,  I  went  over  to  a  neigh 
boring  saloon,  and  the  man  in  charge  gave 
me  ten  dollars  for  the  little  orphans.  With 
this  start,  I  visited  a  gambler  in  the  room 
above  the  saloon,  and  he  gave  me  five.  I  re 
turned  to  the  children,  and  gave  the  dona- 

165 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

tion  to  Helen,  who  was  still  sitting  up,  and 
told  her  to  buy  them  food  as  soon  as  the 
stores  were  opened.  She  thanked  me  and 
said:  "But  Poppy  has  already  gone  out  to 
get  us  bread,  nice  fresh  bread  from  a  bakery 
— she  told  us  to  wait  and  see  what  she  would 
bring. " 

"How  long  has  she  been  gone?"  I  asked. 

"0,  a  long,  long  time,"  said  the  child. 
"She  didn't  have  any  money,  because  she 
bought  her  aunt  a  coat  last  night,  and  she 
was  going  to  walk  to  work  this  morning  be 
cause  she  didn't  have  even  any  car-fare  left, 
but  she  said  she  was  going  to  get  the  bread 
anyway.  Do  you  suppose  she  can u?"  Helen's 
little  wistful  face,  so  full  of  sorrow  that  a 
child  should  never  know,  looked  anxiously 
into  mine,  and  I  think  she  feared  for  Poppy, 
just  as  I  did. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock  when  Earl 
rushed  into  the  room  where  I  was  standing 
by  the  window,  wondering  what  to  do  in  the 
way  of  finding  Poppy,  and  exclaimed, 
"She's  been  arrested,  Stevey.  They  didn't 
even  book  her,  but  she  got  someone  to 

166 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

'phone  me  from  the  station  that  she  is  there, 
said  not  to  bother  about  her  bond  until  I 
came  here  and  fed  some  starving  kids. 
Where  are  they,  and  what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"You're  talking  about  Poppy?" 

"Well,  who  on  earth  do  you  suppose  I'm 
talking  about?  Look  here,  Steve,  you  might 
as  well  know  it  sooner  or  later.  Poppy's  my 
girl." 

"Indeed,"  said  I,  "then  why  don't  you 
marry  her  and  take  her  out  of  this  hole?" 

Earl  laughed  harshly.  "She  says  not  as 
long  as  the  aunt  lives,  and  that  is  all  there 
is  to  it,  but  she  loves  me,  and  I  love  her,  and 
we  are  waiting.  I  meant  to  tell  you  for  a 
good  while,  but  I  haven't  seen  much  of  you 
lately.  I  don't  even  see  Poppy  as  often  as  I 
want.  The  organizing  takes  me  out  of  town 
a  great  deal.  I've  been  everywhere  in  the 
last  few  months."  Then  he  glanced  around 
the  room. 

"Where  are  the  children  she  wanted  me 
to  feed?' 

167 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"They  have  been  attended  to,"  I  an 
swered.  "What  station  is  she  in?" 

"The  Chicago  Avenue.  Let's  be  going 
over.  I  don't  know  what  the  charge  is." 
Again  he  laughed  his  harsh  little  laugh, 
which  I  learned  to  know  was  the  way  he 
tried  to  conceal  his  emotions.  "Funny  how 
I  feel  about  her  being  there.  Jail  isn't  any 
thing  in  my  young  life,  but  when  it's  the  girl 
you  love,  you  get  frightened  and  wonder  if 
they're  really  going  to  do  anything  to  her. 
I  say,  Stevey,  did  you  ever  love  a  girl?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "just  once.  I  loved 
her  very  deeply,  but  I  thought  she  was  too 
much  of  a  child  to  understand  how  I  felt.  I 
was  waiting  for  her  to  grow  up,  watching 
over  her  the  best  I  could  all  the  time,  and 
then  suddenly  I  found  out  she  cared  for 
someone  else." 

We  caught  a  car  and  rode  in  silence  to 
the  station.  I  realized  that  Earl  was  entire 
ly  ignorant  of  whom  I  spoke.  It  was  better 
so.  Neither  he  nor  Poppy  should  ever  know. 
It  was  strange,  but  even  in  that  hour,  when 
my  sense  of  loss  was  so  keen,  I  kept  out- 

168 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

wardly  calm,  and  attended  quietly  to  the 
work  in  hand.  Later,  as  other  men  have 
done,  I  went  into  the  streets  and  walked  for 
miles,  and  fought  the  whole  thing  out. 

I  recalled  then,  how  I  had  told  Poppy,  a 
nation  seeks  a  way  out  of  suffering  when 
that  suffering  becomes  too  great  for  it  to 
any  longer  bear,  and  how  I  thought  America 
would  have  to  endure  a  while  longer  before 
it  became  so  purged  through  suffering  as  to 
be  able  to  master  the  situation.  I  had  spoken 
to  her  of  pain  being  like  a  cleansing  fire,  and 
now  I  was  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
problem  which  each  individual  soul  must 
work  out  for  itself,  and  I  realized  how  a  na 
tion  is  simply  an  aggregation  of  individuals, 
and  how  each  one  must  pay  his  own  par 
ticular  price  to  be  worthy  a  part  of  the  great 
whole. 

I  had  lost  Poppy,  and  Earl  had  won  her, 
but  some  day  Poppy  and  Earl  would  face 
tragedy,  as  I  now  faced  it,  and  then  would 
comprehend  as  I  was  comprehending  now 
the  inscrutable  law  that  nothing  worth 
while  is  ever  accomplished  without  suffer- 

169 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ing  for  some  one.  Prom  the  child  itself  to  a 
new-formed  government,  made  up  of  the 
children  of  men,  the  task  of  creation  is 
wrought  through  agony.  I  lived  to  see  the 
day  when  the  truth  of  this  was  illustrated  in 
the  establishment  of  a  real  democracy  in  a 
country  which  for  ages  had  known  the  most 
crushing  autocratic  rule  on  earth. 

Earl  and  I  inquired  for  Poppy  at  the  desk, 
and  the  matron  was  instructed  to  bring  her 
to  the  waiting-room.  She  paused  on  the 
threshold  when  she  saw  us  both  standing 
there,  and  tried  to  smile,  and  then  any 
doubts  in  my  mind  as  to  which  one  she  cared 
for  were  obliterated,  for  she  flew  straight  to 
Earl's  side,  and  putting  her  head  down  on 
his  shoulder,  cried  like  a  little  girl.  Earl  put 
his  arms  about  her,  and  between  soothing 
her,  and  scolding  everybody  else,  got  a  line 
on  the  story. 

"They  were  so  hungry,"  said  Poppy, 
wiping  her  eyes,  "and  I  had  no  money — 
what  else  was  there  to  doT' 

"What  DID  you  do,  dearf '  asked  Earl, 
gently. 

170 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"I  broke  a  window  and  grabbed  some 
loaves  of  bread  in  a  baker's  shop,  and  I  was 
turning  to  run  with  it  to  the  children  when 
a  policeman  caught  me  and  sent  for  the 
wagon  and  brought  me  here.  They  have 
been  trying  to  make  me  say  I  am  ashamed 
of  myself,  but  I'm  not,  for  those  little  things 
were  starving." 

Poppy  was  led  away  here,  and  Earl 
seemed  very  much  distraught. 

"Listen,"  said  I,  "I  have  a  bit  of  money 
saved  up.  I'll  never  need  it  now  that  I'm 
not  going  to  get  married.  You  take  it,  and 
buy  Poppy  out  when  she  is  fined  this  morn 
ing.  They'll  make  it  a  heavy  fine,  thinking 
she  can't  pay  it,  and  will  have  to  go  to 
prison,  and  you  know  it  won't  be  just  prison 
for  a  pretty  girl  like  Poppy." 

Earl  paled  at  the  thought  of  the  danger 
we  knew  her  to  be  in.  He  grasped  my  hand. 
"How  can  I  ever  thank  you?"  he  said.  "I'll 
accept  the  loan,  old  man.  Of  course,  money 
can  accomplish  anything,  but  you  tell 
Poppy,  or  I'll  tell  her,  that  you  helped  me 

171 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

out  on  this.  It  will  take  all  you  have  and 
all  I've  saved  up  most  likely." 

"Just  let  it  all  come  from  you,"  said  I, 
"I  don't  want  her  to  ever  know." 

When  the  girl  stood  before  the  judge  and 
he  asked  her  why  she  had  stolen  the  bread, 
she  replied  by  asking  him  if  he  had  ever 
been  hungry.  "'Cause  if  you  haven't,  you 
ought  not  to  sit  there  in  judgment  on  others 
who  have  committed  half  the  wrongs  you 
send  them  to  prison  for,  because  their  poor 
stomachs  were  empty." 

It  was  as  we  had  expected:  Poppy  re 
ceived  a  heavy  fine  or  else  must  go  to  jail 
for  a  year.  When  Earl  paid  the  price  of  the 
girl's  liberty,  and  the  three  of  us  walked 
out  of  the  court-room,  Poppy  looked  back 
over  her  shoulder,  and  said:  "I  hope  you'll 
be  hungry  some  day,  judge;  it'll  make  a  man 
out  of  you  yet." 


172 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  pile  of  coal  had  been  dumped  into  the 
street  in  front  of  one  of  the  mansions  out 
on  Sheridan  Road.  There  were  several  tons 
of  it,  and  to  me  it  presented  a  chance  to  earn 
a  few  dollars.  I  had  now  gone  two  days 
without  food,  and  I  walked  up  to  the  door 
and  rang  the  bell.  A  maid,  who  looked  like 
she  had  stepped  out  of  a  musical  comedy, 
answered  the  summons,  and  said  to  wait, 
she  would  see. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  an  affected  French 
accent,  "the  mistress  says  she  has  been 
looking  for  somebody  to  put  that  coal  in  the 
basement.  You  can  get  a  shovel  at  the  back 
door."  Faint  with  hunger,  I  started  the 
task,  and  after  a  while  a  noon  whistle 
sounded  somewhere  in  the  distance,  and  I 
knew  I  could  at  least  claim  a  bite,  or  the 
equivalent  for  the  same. 

Another  maid  dressed  in  exaggerated 
black  and  white  set  me  down  to  a  very  nice 
lunch  indeed. 

173 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"And  how  long  have  you  been  out  of 
work  I "  she  asked,  perching  up  on  the  edge 
of  the  table  while  I  ate. 

"Only  a  short  while,"  I  answered. 

"And  would  you  like  to  stay  on  and  do 
some  other  small  jobs,  after  the  coal  is  all 
stored  away?"  she  questioned,  smilingly. 

I  nodded.  It  didn't  seem  to  me  it  mat 
tered  much  what  I  did,  only  of  course  a  per 
son  had  to  eat.  The  sudden  realization  that 
I  wasn't  to  go  on  dreaming  of  a  future  with 
Poppy  any  more,  and  my  repugnance  to 
working  at  my  profession,  under  the  direc 
tion  of  the  private  agencies,  even  though  I 
had  accomplished  much  good  in  showing 
them  up,  had  left  me  rather  stranded.  I 
would  have  to  find  myself,  so  to  speak,  get 
a  new  perspective,  and  fit  into  the  scheme 
of  things  once  more. 

"Because,"  the  maid  was  saying,  "the 
mistress  has  been  watching  you  from  the 
window,  and  she  has  taken  quite  a  fancy  to 
you." 

"Indeed,  I'm  sure  that's  very  kind." 

The  maid  giggled.   I  looked  up.   Even  a 

174 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

detective  can  be  caught  napping  when  his 
heart  is  sore,  and  the  old  struggle  fails  to 
grip  him  for  a  while. 

"I  think  I  begin  to  understand/'  said  I. 
"I  thought  at  first  that  this  must  be  the 
home  of  some  wealthy  and  fashionable  so 
ciety  people. " 

The  maid  was  all  gravity  now.  " That's 
exactly  what  it  is/'  she  said  slowly.  "Just 
exactly  what  Chicago  has  always  called  it, 
but  of  course,"  and  she  shrugged  expres 
sively,  "if  you  are  to  become  a  part  of  the 
help,  you  will  have  to  learn  the  lay  of  the 
land." 

I  passed  my  hand  across  my  eyes.  It  was 
going  to  take  a  long  time  for  the  vision  of 
the  sweet  little  laughing  Poppy  to  fade 
away.  In  the  meantime,  I  must  endeavor  to 
be  less  dull,  and  grasp  the  meaning  of  this 
girl's  chatter. 

"Who  did  you  say  lives  here?"  I  asked, 
finally. 

"I  didn't  say  who,"  she  answered,  "but 
being  a  poor  stupid  man  who  couldn't  read 
the  front  door  plate,  I'll  tell  you — Mrs. 
Gemble." 

175 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 


. . 


;Mrs.  G-emble,"  I  repeated.     'The  rich 
society  woman,  the  widow  of " 


. . 


The  widow  of  nothing,"  scoffed  the 
maid.  "Do  you  know  what  her  husband  real 
ly  does,  and  what  he  really  is?" 

"No,"  I  replied,  "I  do  not." 

"And  I'm  not  going  to  tell  everything  I 
know  to  a  tramp  that  isn't  going  to  give  me 
anything  for  it."  She  flounced  out  of  the 
kitchen  where  I  had  been  taken  to  eat  my 
lunch,  and  on  her  exit  came  the  entrance 
of  a  Japanese  boy,  whose  non-committal 
smile  took  me  back  to  the  West  where  I 
numbered  many  a  little  yellow  man  as  my 
friend,  and  where  the  Orientals,  both 
Japanese  and  Chinese,  live  and  work  in 
such  great  numbers.  I  felt  more  at  home 
than  I  had  since  coming  to  Chicago. 

When  the  coal  was  all  in,  I  left  word  at 
the  kitchen  door  that  I  would  be  back  later 
for  my  pay,  and  borrowing  car-fare  from 
the  Jap,  crossed  the  city  to  where  Earl 
roomed  and  was  lucky  enough  to  find  him 
just  coming  in  with  his  grip  from  a  down- 
state  trip.  As  a  national  organizer,  he  was 

176 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

rapidly  working  his  way  to  the  front  in  the 
ranks  of  labor.  He  put  the  very  best  that 
was  in  him  into  his  work,  and  with  his  nat 
ural  gift  for  leadership,  and  oratory,  would 
soon  be  a  power  among  men.  When  he  saw 
me,  his  face  lit  up  with  just  the  same  in 
genuous  smile  that  I  had  seen  that  long  ago 
day  in  the  lumber  camp.  He  had  told  me  out 
in  San  Francisco  that  he  had  acquired  two 
or  three  trades  in  the  years  that  he  had  been 
growing  up  and  fighting  the  fight  for  organ 
ization.  He  had  been  framed  on  in  steel 
mills  in  Ohio,  arrested  and  struck  insensible 
in  a  great  garment  strike  in  New  York.  He 
had  worked  in  the  brick-kilns  of  Illinois, 
and  knew  at  first  hand  the  fearful  struggles 
of  the  men  to  obtain  a  living  wage  and 
humane  treatment.  He  was  returning  from 
one  of  these  yards,  where,  after  a  long  and 
bitter  conflict,  the  employes  had  succeeded 
in  getting  a  contract  signed,  and  he  looked 
very  tired  in  spite  of  the  smile  of  welcome 
that  he  gave  me. 

Poppy  would  be  safe  in  Earl's  keeping. 
There  was  no  one  I  knew  whom  I  trusted  so 

177 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

thoroughly.  They  were  really  suited  to  each 
other.  Both  were  consecrating  their  lives 
to  the  same  cause,  while  I — I  was  only  an 
outsider,  an  onlooker  at  the  battle,  a  man 
leaning  over  the  wall  which  surrounded  the 
arena  wherein  was  being  waged  the  mighty 
conflict  between  Capital  and  Labor,  and  be 
cause  my  best  friend  and  the  woman  I  loved 
were  soon  to  be  man  and  wife,  must  not 
make  me  forget  that  the  thing  which  I  had 
been  set  apart  to  do  was  to  point  to  the 
fingers  of  the  " system's  hand"  reaching  out 
into  every  department  of  life,  and  strangling 
to  death  every  helpless  creature  whom  it 
touched.  Earl  put  his  arm  affectionately 
about  my  shoulders. 

"I  say,  old  man,  I'm  sure  glad  to  see  you 
again.  What  are  you  doing  with  yourself 
these  days?" 

"I  start  on  a  new  job  tonight,  Earl,"  said 
I.  "It  may  be  that  you  won't  see  me  for 
quite  a  little  while.  I'll  be  in  Chicago,  but 
I'll  be  working  'under  cover'." 

"You're  not  with  any  of  those  slimy 
agencies  any  more?"  he  asked  quickly. 

178 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"No,  I'll  never  be  with  them  any  more, 
but  as  a  detective,  I  shall  always  go  on 
working,  and  always  working  for  the  under 
dog." 

He  smiled  in  a  relieved  way,  and  settled 
back  in  his  chair  and  puffed  on  a  little  old 
pipe  he  usually  carried. 

"You  know,  Steve,  I'm  having  a  hard 
time  of  it  with  Poppy,"  he  said,  and  sighed 
as  if  the  management  of  the  girl  with  the 
red-gold  hair  was  a  much  more  difficult  task 
than  the  handling  of  a  thousand  union  men. 

"Yes?  What  seems  to  be  the  trouble?" 

"It's  those  Hungarian  kids.  Poppy's 
adopted  them  all,  and  she  just  simply  can't 
feed  them,  yet  she  tries,  and  I  worry  myself 
sick  over  the  way  she  is  working,  but  she 
won't  listen  to  a  thing  I  say.  I  was  wonder 
ing  if  you  wouldn't  have  some  influence 
with  her.  She  always  thought  a  lot  of  your 
judgment — a  lot  more  than  she  does  of 
mine,"  he  grumbled.  "What  I  want  you  to 
advise  her,  is  this,"  and  he  leaned  towards 
me  in  a  confidential  way.  "Tell  her  that 
she  ought  to  marry  me  right  away.  Tell  her 

179 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

that  I  can  support  the  kids  right,  and  she 
can't,  and  maybe  for  their  good,  shell  listen 
to  reason." 

"You  would  be  willing  to  take  this  re 
sponsibility?"  I  asked,  a  bit  amazed. 

"Why,  of  course.  Who  else  is  there  to 
take  it?  Poppy  loves  the  little  rascals,  says 
they  are  the  first  brothers  and  sisters  she 
has  ever  had,  and  it  would  break  her  heart 
to  send  them  to  an  asylum,  besides  they 
would  be  separated,  and  they  haven't  a  rela 
tive  in  the  world  but  each  other.  It's  a  plain 
case  of  our  duty  to  raise  them  the  best  we 
can.  Poppy's  right  about  that,  only  I'm  the 
one  to  get  out  and  hustle  for  the  living,  and 
not  that  tender  little  girl." 

"And  the  aunt?"  I  asked. 

"She  died  last  week — that's  another  rea 
son  why  Poppy  clings  so  tightly  to  the  chil 
dren.  They  are  bright  little  things,  and  now 
that  they  are  getting  something  to  eat,  they 
are  all  looking  more  like  regular  human  be 
ings.  But  this  arrangement  can't  go  on. 
Will  you  try  to  do  something  to  help  me  in 
the  matter?" 

180 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

I  sat  silent  for  a  while.  So  I  was  to  go  to 
Poppy  and  persuade  her  to  make  up  her 
mind  to  marry  Earl  at  once.  Another  of 
life's  little  ironies,  I  thought.  O,  well,  it 
was  all  a  part  of  the  big  game.  I  rose,  and 
held  out  my  hand  to  Earl:  "I'll  go  over 
now/'  I  said,  "because  I  have  to  be  back 
at  my  job  some  time  tonight." 

I  found  Poppy  and  the  five  little  Hun 
garians  seated  about  a  table  which  held  a 
lamp  and  some  garments  of  wearing  ap 
parel.  She  was  telling  them  stories  while 
she  sewed,  and  she  sewed  as  fast  as  her 
fingers  could  fly.  After  the  greetings  were 
exchanged,  I  sent  the  children  into  a  corner 
of  the  room  to  play  with  a  broken  toy  or 
two  that  Poppy  had  managed  to  secure  for 
them. 

"Not  been  breaking  windows  again ?"  I 
asked,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  she,  "I'm  working  over 
time  now  and  I  have  plenty  of  money." 

"Poppy,"  and  I  tried  to  make  my  voice 
steady.  "With  me  there  isn't  the  least  bit 
of  use  to  bluff.  I  am  perfectly  well  aware 

181 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

that  you  and  these  youngsters  here  are  only 
partially  nourished,  and  only  partially 
clothed.  The  thing  can't  go  on.  I'm  going 
to  have  to  report  the  case  to  the  authorities. 
It's  a  miracle  they  haven't  found  it  out  be 
fore  now,  and — "  but  I  simply  couldn't  con 
tinue,  for  the  reproachful  expression  in 
Poppy's  eyes  hurt  me  to  the  soul. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Doyle,  you  wouldn't  do  that*?" 
she  cried.  "I  always  thought  you  were  go 
ing  to  be  my  friend." 

"I'm  your  friend  all  right,"  said  I,  and  I 
suppose  my  voice  sounded  rather  harsh. 
"Poppy,  tell  me  one  thing,  do  you  really 
love  Earl?" 

She  nodded. 

"No,  look  at  me,"  I  commanded,  and  she 
raised  her  sweet  gray  eyes  and  I  had  my 
answer. 

"Very  well,  then,  marriage  is  your  only 
way  out.  I  mean  the  only  way  that  you  can 
possibly  keep  the  children." 

Poppy  was  silent  for  a  long  time  after 
this.  I  saw  she  was  thinking.  "Do  you  sup 
pose  it  would  be  right?"  she  asked  finally. 

"How  do  you  mean?" 
182 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Well,  burdening  him  with  these  strange 
children.  It  isn't  as  if  he  loved  them  like  I 
do/' 

"He  loves  you  enough  to  care  for  any 
thing  that  you  care  for,"  said  I.  "And 
that's  the  test  of  love,  if  you  want  to  know 
it." 

Poppy  slowly  shook  her  head  up  and 
down,  as  if  she  were  beginning  to  under 
stand,  then  a  little  tremor  passed  over  her 
face,  and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"I  guess  you're  right,  Mr.  Doyle,  you 
generally  are.  This  is  the  second  time  I  am 
going  to  take  your  advice.  I  want  you  to 
know  how  much  I  thank  you  for  the  interest 
you  have  taken  in  me,"  she  rose  and  held 
out  her  hand,  and  bending  down,  I  kissed 
her  softly  on  the  forehead  and  went  away. 


Okagowa  stood  watching  me  as  I  built  a 
high  board  fence  around  the  back  part  of 
the  Gemble  mansion.  "You  make  him  velly 
high  so  nobody  see  Melican  man  come  and 
go?  Melican  velly  rich,  but  nobody  see,  no- 

183 


.THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

body  know,  muchly  different  in  Japan.  You 
like  Melican  God*?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  very  well  acquainted 
with  him, ' '  I  replied.  ' '  Are  you  1 ' ' 

"Pleacher  man  at  Gospel  Mission,  he  say: 
'Be  velly  good  Chlistian  boy,  and  you  be 
saved'.  He  tell  me  give  him  savings  and  he 
keep  for  me.  I  save  sixty  dollars,  When  I 
go  to  get,  pleacher  man  say,  'O,  I  thought 
you  gave  that  to  God',  and  I  no  get.  Me  no 
like  that  Melican  God.  He  heap  no  good. 
He  lose  my  money.  He  heap  careless." 

The  immobile  countenance  of  the  little 
Jap  betrayed  no  emotion,  but  I  wondered 
what  thoughts  were  passing  through  his 
head.  The  first  warm  days  of  spring  were 
upon  us.  Little  buds  were  coming  out  on  the 
trees.  The  lawn  that  I  tended  showed  a 
bright  green  in  the  pale  rays  of  the  late 
afternoon  sunshine. 

"Okagowa,"  said  I,  "I'll  lend  you  sixty 
dollars,  if  you  will  do  something  for  me." 

The  narrow  black  eyes  twinkled." 

"I  want  you  to  fall  down  and  hurt  your 
knee,  just  before  the  big  dinner  tonight,  and 
then  of  course  you  couldn't  serve.  I'll  offer 

184 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

to  do  the  work  for  you,  and  on  such  short 
notice,  they  won't  be  able  to  think  up  any 
better  plan,  and  so  I  will  get  a  chance  to 
see  what  a  really  swell  American  dinner  is 
like." 

Okagowa  considered.  "Me  not  velly  bad 
hurt,  only  pletend?"  he  questioned. 

"Exactly.  Say  about  seven  forty-five — 
the  dinner  is  at  eight,  isn't  it?" 

He  nodded. 

"All  right,  you  be  going  up  or  coming 
down  some  stairs,  I'll  watch  you  and  stick 
around,  and  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment, 
I'll  offer  my  services." 

"You  know  how  to  serve  velly  gland  din 
ner?"  he  asked. 

"I  know  a  little  of  everything." 

Okagowa  seemed  satisfied.  "Me  go  bed, 
then  me  sneak  out  and  go  picture  show.  You 
keep  sixty  dollars,  Mr.  Doyle,  me  no  need, 
Melican  God  might  get  again." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  night  that  there  was 
nothing  the  mind  of  man  might  conceive  to 
charm  and  delight  the  senses  which  was  not 
manifest  at  the  Gemble  dinner.  The  young 

185 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

son  of  Mrs.  Gamble,  who  had  been  away  at 
school  in  Prance,  was  being  introduced  to 
Chicago  society.  This  dinner  was  in  honor 
of  his  homecoming.  Just  at  the  time  that 
little  Okagowa  slipped  gracefully  on  the 
polished  hardwood  floors  and  uttered  a 
shrill  cry  of  assumed  pain,  private  cars  and 
pumpkin-colored  cabs  of  the  taxi-trust, 
which  was  a  part  of  the  whole  system,  were 
beginning  to  deposit  gorgeously  attired 
women  at  the  Gemble  gates.  It  was  an  easy 
matter  for  me  to  persuade  the  hysterical 
hostess  to  allow  me  to  put  on  a  dress  suit 
and  do  the  best  I  could  to  replace  the 
Japanese  butler.  When  I  came  into  the 
large  and  magnificent  dining  room,  or  more 
properly,  hall,  with  the  cocktails,  and  felt 
the  perfumed  warmth  and  heard  the  throb 
bing  violins,  and  saw  the  women  chattering, 
and  the  men  all  laughing,  a  wave  of  nausea 
swept  over  me,  and  I  had  to  hold  tight  to  the 
priceless  cut-glass  I  was  carrying  lest  I 
throw  every  piece  at  this  gathering  of  idle 
rich,  and  cry  shame  upon  them  for  their  in 
humanity  to  man. 

186 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

The  women  wore  jewels  of  fabulous  value 
and  gowns,  which,  lacking  in  quantity,  made 
up  in  quality,  so  that  upon  each  bare  back 
were  shoulder-straps  holding  together  a 
mass  of  fluff  that  had  sent  not  less  than  one 
little  girl  to  a  home  for  broken-down  wage- 
slaves  and  made  a  profit  for  the  already 
millionaire  manufacturer  which  would  have 
kept  Poppy's  little  orphans  in  food  and 
clothes  and  school  books  for  at  least  a  month 
or  more. 

At  the  head  of  the  glittering  table,  with 
its  flowers,  and  ferns,  and  silverware  sat  the 
woman  for  whom  I  had  now  been  working 
several  months,  and  whom  I  had  just  about 
finished  studying.  She  was  handsome  and 
clever,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  I  had 
not  read  her  easily,  and  her  guests  seated 
at  either  side  and  representing  Mid- West 
aristocracy  had  never  read  her  at  all. 

At  the  foot  of  the  banquet-board  presided 
the  son.  One  glance  was  enough  for  me — a 
degenerate  through  and  through.  The  weak 
face  and  twitching  hands,  stained  with 
cigarettes,  that  toyed  nervously  with  a 

187 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

damask  napkin,  proclaimed  him  a  type  that 
is  not  spoken  of  in  polite  society  ruch  as 
was  assembled  here.  Mothers  with  mar 
riageable  daughters  chose  to  overlook  his 
shifting  glances  and  receding  chin.  Walton 
Gemble  would  inherit  a  fortune. 

Among  the  guests  was  one  who  did  not 
talk  so  much  or  quite  so  loud.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  lot  of  thinking  to  do.  Once  or  twice, 
I  saw  him  look  at  the  young  heir  with  an  ex 
pression  of  bitterness  on  his  face,  and  then 
across  the  table  where  his  wife  sat.  They 
were  a  childless  couple.  It  was  naturally 
hard  to  see  one's  own  flesh  and  blood  turn 
out  so  disappointingly,  and  the  man  couldn't 
know,  of  course,  that  the  only  one  present 
who  really  sympathized,  was  the  stupid 
gardener  who  was  taking  forever  and  for 
ever  to  serve  the  wondrous  dinner. 

Walton  Gemble  glanced  into  the  faces  of 
his  mother's  guests  with  little  interest.  He 
had  been  raised  abroad,  and  on  his  occa 
sional  visits  home  had  not  met  many  people. 
He  had  been  told  that  his  father  had  died 
when  he,  Walton,  was  a  baby,  and  when  he 

188 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

felt  the  eyes  of  the  great  financier,  Mr. 
Mitchell,  upon  him,  it  meant  nothing  to  him. 
How  is  a  child  to  know  his  father  from  any 
other  man  unless  he  is  told?  And  neither 
he  nor  anyone  else  had  ever  been  told  that 
which  would  have  shocked  society,  and  so 
ciety  must  be  preserved  from  shocks  at  all 
costs. 

A  man  by  the  name  of  Graydon,  who  was 
prominent  in  the  affairs  of  the  Board  of 
Trade,  and  in  the  Association  of  Commerce, 
was  telling  a  good  story,  and  for  a  moment, 
all  the  guests  stopped  to  listen. 

"Say  what  you  please,"  said  he,  "it's  our 
private  detective  that  deserves  the  credit 
every  time.  Here  in  this  case  of  poor  Mai 
lers — what  would  he  have  known  of  what 
was  going  on  if  that  chap  Thomas  hadn't 
tipped  him  off  just  in  time  ?  Why  the  papers 
had  actually  printed  the  story,  and  it  cost 
Mailers  fifty  thousand  to  suppress  the 
issues.  The  boys  were  ready  to  go  out  in 
the  streets  with  the  copies,  when,  as  I  say, 
he  got  the  word." 

"What  was  the  story,  Mr.  Graydon?" 

189 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

piped  a  thin  voiced  woman  of  about  forty, 
who  was  dressed  like  a  chorus  girl. 

Gray  don  laughed.  "0,  come  now,  Mrs. 
Timmins,  I  can't  tell  that  story  here,"  he 
replied. 

"O,  yes,  please  do,"  came  from  half  a 
dozen  feminine  throats. 

"Well,  the  paper  being  suppressed,  ex 
cept  for  a  few  issues  that  somehow  or  other 
crept  out,  I  didn't  get  all  the  details,  but 
the  gist  of  it  is  that  Mrs.  Mailers  was  found 
in  a  hotel  with  an  army  officer,  and  well, 
they  weren't  either  of  them  dressed  just 
exactly  as  if  they  were  going  out  onto  the 
street,  and  of  course  it  cut  poor  old  Mailers 
pretty  deep,  because  his  wife  is  a  good  deal 
younger  than  he  is,  and  crazy  over  any  man 
that  wears  a  uniform." 

"O,  how  perfectly  dreadful.  She  will 
never  be  received  anywhere  again.  I  always 
say  those  things  simply  can't  be  suppressed, 
no  matter  how  high  you  pay."  A  fussy  little 
lady  sitting  at  Mr.  Mitchell's  left  rolled  her 
eyes  at  him  in  an  appealing  way,  as  if  de 
manding  confirmation. 

190 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

He  smiled.  "I  disagree  with  you/'  said 
he.  "  Enough  money  can  buy  anything  on 
earth.  I  dare  say  Mailers  didn't  have  quite 
enough." 

The  soft  carpet  deadening  my  footballs,  I 
moved  slowly  from  place  to  place,  making 
more  mistakes  by  intention  than  by  acci 
dent.  After  a  bit,  when  the  liquor  had  been 
more  freely  consumed,  I  knew  the  tongues 
would  be  loosened  and  I  would  hear  things 
that  I  had  come  to  hear. 

There  were  tales  of  scandal  recounted  and 
relished,  and  murmurs  of  horror  always  ex 
pressed.  I  pondered  over  the  hypocrisy  and 
the  everlasting  pity  of  it  all.  Were  they 
never  going  to  tire  of  playing  so  senseless 
and  disgusting  a  game?  Were  these  men 
and  women  of  America,  of  which  this  hand 
ful  was  representative,  going  to  keep  on 
skirting  the  edge  of  the  abyss,  until  like  the 
master-class  in  other  lands,  they  toppled 
over  into  outer  darkness? 

Mr.  Strothers,  the  head  of  a  great  manu 
facturing  plant,  was  unburdening  himself 
of  his  troubles  with  his  employes.  "It's 

191 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

these  unions  that  give  us  all  our  trouble/' 
he  was  saying.  "The  foremen  can  manage 
the  men  if  we  can  keep  the  organizers  out. 
The  foreigners  especially  are  easily  held 
down  if  we  can  only  keep  them  ignorant  and 
handle  them  ourselves." 

Mr.  Mitchell,  the  wealthiest  man  present, 
and  the  shrewdest  and  the  most  cruel, 
looked  at  the  woman  who  sat  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  and  again  smiled  his  slow  smile  of 
cunning  knowledge.  His  rather  handsome, 
sensual  face,  with  its  thin  lips  and  narrow 
eyes,  attracted  people,  and  when  he  smiled 
in  that  peculiar  way  of  his  as  if  he  knew  far 
more  than  he  would  ever  tell,  others  would 
cease  talking  and  turn  to  hear  what  he 
might  have  to  say. 

"I  have  before  remarked,"  and  he  spoke 
with  that  subtle  emphasis  that  gains  atten 
tion,  "that  if  you  can  pay  for  it>  you  can  buy 
anything  in  the  world.  I  never  have  any 
trouble  with  unions — I  learned  long  ago  how 
to  handle  them.  I  am  interested  in  several 
concerns  that  employ  thousands  of  men  and 
women.  I  couldn't  have  these  same  men  and 

192 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

women  annoying  me.  I  simply  put  the  most 
competent  private  detective  agency  in  the 
field  and  told  them  to  go  the  limit.  It  has 
often  cost  me  very  dear  when  some  dozen  or 
more  strikers  had  to  be  clubbed  to  death, 
but  my  agents  know  that  my  word  is  good 
when  I  say  that  they  are  immune  from  all 
punishment  by  law,  and  thev  accomplish 
some  neat  pieces  of  work. 

"I  remember  the  time  the  machinists  at 
a  certain  plant,  and  I  believe  there  were 
some  electricians  in  sympathy  with  them, 
walked  out,  and  demanded  what  they  were 
pleased  to  call  a  living  wage,  all  the  result 
of  the  activity  of  union  workers,  and  how  it 
took  the  braining  of  a  woman,  the  wife  of 
one  of  the  pickets,  to  bring  the  fools  to  their 
senses.  However,  bloodshed  is  not  always 
necessary.  Starving  them  back  to  work  has 
rarely  failed  to  bring  them  to  their  knees, 
but  of  course,  with  the  details  of  a  strike, 
I'm  never  concerned.  If,  for  instance,  they 
ask  for  what  they  are  beginning  to  call  arbi 
tration,  I  simply  turn  the  job  over  to  my 
trusted  operatives,  and  they  use  any  means 

193 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

they  think  justifiable.  Setting  the  workers 
against  each  other,  and  causing  hard  feel 
ings  between  the  races  is  generally  an 
efficacious  method." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  we  are 
coming  to,"  wailed  a  woman,  who  never 
read  anything  deeper  than  the  fashion 
magazines.  "The  masses  are  getting  to 
clamor  so,  and  with  all  we  do  for  them  too. 
Why  only  last  week,  I  sat  for  hours  selling 
doilies  at  a  charity  bazaar." 

A  man  who  had  gained  millions  from  the 
labor  of  the  toilers  in  the  stockyards  spoke 
very  bitterly  of  the  whole  subject.  "I  shall 
never  forget  the  trouble  the  organized 
worker  caused  us  in  1904,"  said  he.  "Not 
satisfied  with  sixteen  and  a  half  cents  an 
hour,  they  went  out  on  strike,  but  we  were 
able  to  produce  so  many  loyal  unorganized 
laborers  that  the  business  could  have  been 
carried  on  just  the  same,  had  not  one  of  the 
men  brought  the  germ  of  smallpox  into  the 
yards.  Of  course,  for  their  own  safety,  the 
men  had  to  sleep  where  they  worked,  and 
the  disease  spread  very  rapidly,  and  the 

194 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

first  thing  we  knew,  everybody  had  it,  and 
after  a  fumigation,  we  had  to  take  the 
strikers  back,  and  being  in  the  position  we 
were,  had  to  grant  them  a  slight  increase  in 
wages.  It  was  most  annoying. " 

"I  hear  they  horde  their  wealth  out 
there,"  remarked  another  lady  guest,  "but 
of  course  I'm  too  sensitive  to  stand  the  odor, 
so  IVe  never  really  had  the  opportunity  to 
find  out.  IVe  often  heard  that  the  poor  are 
just  as  well  off  in  dirty  shacks  as  not.  They 
are  not  intelligent  enough  to  know  any  bet 
ter." 

Mr.  Weaver,  the  head  of  the  great  light 
ing  plant  of  the  city,  smacked  his  lips  over 
the  delicacies  he  was  devouring  and  replied, 
"You  are  quite  right,  Madam,  quite  right. 
Speaking  from  experience  as  well  as  from 
observation  I  would  say  that  I  consider  the 
bonus  system  the  most  reliable  method  of 
defeating  the  progress  of  organization 
among  the  employes.  They  fall  for  it  in 
variably."  Here  his  eyes  gleamed  cruelly. 
"And  I  might  add,"  he  continued  with  a 
shrewd  glance  around  the  table,  "that  even 

195 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

our  own  private  and  particular  method  of 
reading  meters  and  then  shutting  off  gas 
until  payments  are  made,  has  not  netted  a 
larger  profit  to  the  company  than  the  dues 
collected  from  the  company's  club,  com 
posed  of  the  men  and  women  who  work  for 
us.  Of  course,  we  always  give  them  a  little 
present  at  Christmas  time  and  the  poor 
fools  think  they  are  really  getting  some 
thing  for  nothing.  The  big  stores  use  this 
system  almost  exclusively  in  handling  their 
help.  It  has  another  advantage  in  that  it 
puts  an  employe  at  the  mercy  of  the  cor 
poration  for  whom  he  is  working.  Should 
he  even  attempt  to  join  the  union  he  is  fired 
for  a  period  and  then  must  start  in  all  over 
again.  Any  dues  paid  in  are  a  clear  gain 
to  us  and  the  annual  holiday  treat  a  whole 
year  further  off.  Only  the  rich  are  wise 
enough  to  count  the  pennies,  it  would 
seem." 

The  rich  Mr.  Porter,  often  referred  to  as 
"America's  Soap  Baron",  and  who  also 
drew  a  large  te venue  from  the  rent  of  rows 
upon  rows  of  tenement  houses,  laughed 

196 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

heartily  as  he  exclaimed:  "Why  take  the 
workers  seriously  1  To  me  they  are  just  so 
much  cattle.  Even  when  they  get  obstreper 
ous,  I  never  forget  that  I  am  a  gentleman 
and  behave  as  a  true  sportsman  should.  It 
became  necessary,  in  one  strike,  not  so  very 
long  ago,  for  the  agents  to  shoot  down  ten 
men  who  insisted  on  picketing  a  plant  more 
as  an  example  to  the  others  than  anything 
else,  and  for  a  time,  it  looked  as  if  we  were 
going  to  have  a  nasty  bit  of  trouble.  It  went 
so  far  that  the  indictments  had  reached  the 
grand  jury,  when  I  stepped  in,  made  it  all 
right  with  the  prosecuting  attorney,  and 
promised  to  see  to  it  that  he  was  elected 
judge  at  the  next  election.  He  was,  too.  A 
great  deal  depends  on  a  man  keeping  his 
word  to  his  friends  in  little  matters  like 
this." 

"Politics  have  cost  me  a  fortune,"  stated 
a  shriveled  up  old  man  who  had  made  mil 
lions,  and  grudged  the  spending  of  a  penny. 

"Oh,  well,  replied  a  self-satisfied  chew 
ing-gum  king,  "I  pride  myself  on  my  gener 
osity.  I  always  allow  that  a  corporation  has 

197 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

to  have  a  large  margin  of  profit  to  provide 
for  its  '  slush'  fund.  We've  got  to  see  to  it 
that  certain  men  of  certain  parties  are 
elected,  though  when  you  come  right  down 
to  it,  the  thing  that  really  counts  in  any 
fight  with  labor  is  the  pooling  of  its  wealth 
on  the  part  of  industry.  The  solidarity  of 
capital  can  always  prevail  if  we  can  just 
manage  to  keep  the  laborers  apart.  I  fancy 
that  the  blacklist  system,  which  some  brainy 
private  detective  originated,  and  which  all 
corporations  throughout  the  country  have 
adopted,  has  done  more  than  anything  else 
to  break  the  power  of  organization." 

Mrs.  Gremble  evidently  wished  to  encour 
age  this  man  in  his  contributions  to  the  din 
ner-table  conversation,  for  she  asked  sweet 
ly,  "And  what  is  the  blacklist  system,  Mr. 
Wharton?" 

"The  blacklist  system,"  he  replied,  in  an 
important  tone  so  that  all  the  other  guests 
would  stop  talking  and  listen  to  him,  "is 
best  described  by  giving  you  an  illustration. 
Say  a  man  is  working  in  one  of  our  factories, 
and  has  this  union  idea  in  his  head.  He  is 

198 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

sure  to  impart  it  to  the  fellow  working  next 
to  him,  and  is  what  we  call  an  agitator.  His 
remarks  to  his  fellow- workman  are  reported 
to  headquarters  by  any  one  of  the  many  de 
tectives  whom  we  have  placed  about  for  just 
such  purposes.  This  agitator  is  fired,  of 
course,  and  having  a  miserable  family  de 
pendent  upon  him  for  support,  he  hastens  to 
the  next  factory  manufacturing  the  same 
kind  of  goods,  and  applies  for  a  similar  posi 
tion  to  the  one  he  held.  But  he  is  told  to 
bring  references  from  the  last  place  he 
worked.  We  cannot  give  them,  and  our  com 
petitor  in  business  is  so  closely  bound  to  us 
by  the  ties  of  commercial  unionism  that  he 
loyally  refuses  to  employ  the  man.  Go  as 
far  as  he  likes  in  his  trade,  he  will  find  the 
system  beautifully  working  and  at  last  there 
is  nothing  for  it  but  to  return  to  us  and  beg 
our  pardon  and  promise  to  give  up  forever 
all  thought  of  a  trade  union.  Often-times, 
we  do  not  even  then  consider  it  safe  to  re 
engage  a  man  who  has  thus  behaved.  At  any 
rate,  we  let  him  forego  any  seniority  rights 
he  may  have  earned  and  start  again  at  the 

199 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

bottom.  It  is  really  a  wonderful  method  in 
dealing  with  the  worker." 

"And  in  a  case  where  you  don't  take  him 
back?"  asked  a  guest. 

"Well,  the  only  alternative,  quite  natural 
ly,  is  the  penitentiary,  for  the  man  has  to 
starve,  beg  or  steal;  should  he  be  caught 
doing  either  of  the  latter  crimes  he  is  arrest 
ed  on  a  charge  of  vagrancy  or  theft,  and  he 
lands  just  where  he  belongs.  This  thing  of 
organization  on  the  part  of  our  employes  is 
rather  serious,  or  may  grow  to  serious  pro 
portions,  and  has  to  be  dealt  with  very 
firmly." 

"They  have  a  funny  phrase,"  giggled  a 
young  girl,  who  was  trying  to  attract  the 
attention  of  Walton  Gemble,  "I  believe  they 
call  it  collective  bargaining." 

The  shriveled  up  little  man,  who  was 
miserly,  again  piped  out  his  sentiments: 
"Though  I  employ  thirty-five  private  de 
tectives  to  guard  my  interests  and  protect 
me  from  the  rabble,  I  never  feel  safe.  Do 
you  recall  hearing  of  that  case  somewhere 
out  West,  of  one  of  Hart's  men  who  turned 

200 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

traitor,  and  was  the  cause  of  getting  that 
banker  punished  for  the  murder  of  some 
foolish  girl  or  other?  I  have  forgotten  his 


name.' 


"Will  you  have  some   more  wine?"   I 
asked,  as  I  bent  to  fill  his  glass. 


201 


CHAPTER  X. 

I  learned  through  Earl  that  Poppy  had 
promised  to  marry  him  on  the  first  day  in 
June.  She  seemed  to  be  very  happy  that 
spring,  the  care  of  the  little  Hungarian 
children  was  an  absorbing  passion  with  her. 
She  washed  and  dressed  them  and  played 
with  them  as  a  little  girl  might  with  her 
dolls,  and  she  took  the  responsibility  of  see 
ing  to  it  that  they  were  fed  and  attended 
school,  with  that  maternal  love  which  lies 
latent  in  the  heart  of  every  female  child. 

Earl  was  more  like  a  big  happy  boy  than 
ever.  The  two  of  them  used  to  have  great 
times  taking  the  orphans  down  to  a  little 
cheap  shoe-shop  on  Blue  Island  Avenue  and 
fitting  them  out  in  rough  little  boots.  Then 
they'd  visit  stores  on  Milwaukee  Avenue 
and  pick  out  bargains  in  tiny  caps  and 
stockings.  Poppy  made  the  little  coats  and 
dresses  that  they  wore,  and  now  that  she 
had  decided  to  marry  Earl  in  the  near 
future,  she  let  him  help  in  the  providing  for 

203 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  material  wants  of  the  children.  They 
were  all  five  of  them  beginning  to  bloom  out 
after  the  long  dark  period  in  their  life  which 
had  culminated  in  the  death  of  parents  and 
one  brother.  Helen,  with  her  fair  hair  and 
big  blue  eyes,  was  almost  pretty,  and  she 
simply  adored  Poppy.  "She  kept  us  from 
the  asylum,"  she  often  whispered  to  the 
neighbors,  but  the  look  of  fear  so  early  im 
planted  on  her  wistful  countenance  never 
quite  left  it.  Poor  little  Helen,  and  Earl  and 
Poppy.  Life  was  trying  to  be  a  bit  kind  to 
them  all  in  these  days,  and  make  them  laugh 
over  buying  new  shoes  and  sitting  down  to 
meals  of  plain  boiled  potatoes.  It  is  often 
that  way — wre  don't  realize  it  at  the  time, 
but  afterwards  when  the  years  have  flown 
by,  it  is  well  to  have  something  to  remem 
ber. 

My  work  in  the  Gremble  mansion  was  not 
completed.  Some  force  stronger  than  my 
own  will  kept  me  on  there  and  I  worked 
quietly  and  watched  and  waited. 

Walton  Gremble  had,  at  his  mother's  in 
stigation,  taken  charge  of  a  Sunday  School 

204 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Class  in  a  mission  hall  on  the  West  Side, 
where  the  signs  in  the  windows  are  in  any 
language  except  English. 

"Walton  has  just  fallen  in  love  with  those 
dreadful  Bohemian  and  Polish,  and  I  don't 
know  what  all  out  there,  but  then  he  always 
was  that  way,  so  interested  in  the  masses; 
even  as  a  child,  he  would  run  away  to  play 
with  little  ash-can  creatures  in  the  alley/'  I 
heard  her  murmur  to  an  acquaintance. 

Her  whole  life  was  a  pose,  and  for  some 
reason,  best  known  to  herself,  she  had  fairly 
thrust  the  sullen  boy  into  her  electric  and 
told  him  to  comply  with  the  request  of  the 
church  elders  in  her  neighborhood,  and  go 
to  the  mission  they  had  established  on  the 
West  Side,  and  make  a  bluff  at  teaching  a 
class  on  Sunday  morning. 

"Damn  it,  what  do  I  know  about  such 
rot?"  he  had  grumbled,  in  his  sulky  way, 
kicking  the  soft  turf  of  the  green  sward  I 
wTas  tending.  Neither  he  nor  his  mother 
noticed  me,  but  glancing  up  I  saw  an  ex 
pression  of  alarm  on  her  handsome  face.  I 
think  she  fancied  that  the  religious  denomi- 

205 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

nations  were  beginning  to  suspect  her  and 
were  already  using  their  secret  and  success 
ful  methods  to  obtain  whatsoever  they  de 
sired.  She  had  been  giving  very  largely  late 
ly  to  charitable  institutions,  and  was  a  reg 
ular  contributor  to  half  a  dozen  fashionable 
churches  scattered  over  the  exclusive  end 
of  the  North  Side,  that  part  of  Chicago 
which  is  so  beautiful  to  the  eye  with  its  well- 
kept  drives  that  skirt  the  lake,  and  which 
runs  past  the  cemetery  into  Evanston  and 
Wilmette. 

April  glided  into  May,  and  May  was  near 
ly  gone.  Poppy  had  for  some  time  been 
planning  a  little  "family  picnic"  as  she 
called  it.  She  had  invited  me  to  join  Earl 
and  herself  and  the  beloved  orphans  early 
on  the  morning  of  Memorial  Day,  and  we 
were  to  all  go  out  on  a  South  Side  car  to 
Jackson  Park  for  a  glorious  day  under  the 
trees,  and  watch  the  children  eat  their  first 
meal  on  a  grassy  slope.  The  heavy  winter 
had  been  hard  on  Poppy — she  was  not  used 
to  the  rigors  of  the  Illinois  climate,  and  she 
longed  inexpressibly  to  spend  every  Sunday 

206 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  holiday  out  of  doors  now  that  the  air 
was  mild  and  balmy. 

"Almost  as  lovely  as  Calif  ornia, "  she 
would  declare  to  Earl,  when  he  took  her  for 
little  walks  through  Humboldt  Park  that 
spring,  but  we  both  knew  that  Poppy  was 
homesick  for  the  Golden  Gate  and  the  feel 
of  the  salt  spray  on  her  cheeks. 

"I  hope  to  take  her  back  there  some  day," 
he  had  told  me,  when  he  came  to  deliver  the 
invitation  to  the  picnic,  and  we  had  strolled 
up  the  street  a  few  blocks  together,  and  I 
had  promised  him  I  would  come. 

Memorial  Day  that  year  dawned  bright 
and  clear.  Mr.  Mitchell  had  called  at  the 
Gemble  mansion  the  night  before,  and  his 
hard  clean-shaven  face  looked  harder  than 
ever  as  he  drove  away.  I  was  sure  Mrs. 
Gemble  was  making  very  heavy  demands 
upon  him  now  that  the  boy  was  home,  and 
the  man  who  had  said  that  money  can  buy 
anything  on  earth  was  practicing  bitterly 
the  doctrine  that  he  preached.  None  of  the 
servants  were  about  as  I  prepared  and  ate 
an  early  breakfast.  Walton  Gemble  had 

207 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

come  in  towards  morning  half  intoxicated, 
and  I  heard  him  swearing  as  he  ran  his  low 
gray  racing  car  into  the  garage  over  which 
I  had  my  room. 

I  walked  over  to  the  car-line  in  the  hush 
of  the  early  morning,  and  drew  in  deep 
breaths  of  fresh  air  as  if  to  cleanse  myself 
of  the  soiled  atmosphere  of  the  costly  Gem- 
ble  mansion.  How  secure  and  safe  from  all 
disturbance  it  lay  there  in  its  background 
of  stately  trees,  and  the  occupants  slept  on, 
protected.  They  were  breaking  all  the  laws 
of  God  and  man,  but  man  keeps  silent  when 
you  feed  him  gold,  and  God  had  not  yet 
spoken. 

Little  Helen  met  me  at  the  door  of 
Poppy's  humble  home.  She  had  moved  into 
two  little  rooms  in  another  part  of  the 
tenement  district  as  she  thought  the  old  en 
vironment  where  the  deaths  of  her  aunt,  and 
of  the  Hungarians  had  occurred,  too  gloomy 
for  the  children,  and  her  one  object  with 
them  was  to  help  them  to  forget  a  past  so 
fraught  with  suffering.  Little  Helen's  face 
held  the  frightened  look  of  those  early  days; 

208 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

however,  as  she  said  brokenly,  as  if  very 
near  to  sobbing,  "Mr.  Doyle,  won't  you 
please  find  Poppy  ?" 

" Find  her?"  I  echoed. 

"Yes,"  continued  Helen.  "She  went  to 
the  store  last  night  to  get  some  cheese  and 
crackers  for  our  lunch  today,  and  she  hasn't 
come  back  yet." 

For  a  moment  I  was  too  stunned  to  speak, 
then  a  terrible  fear  gripped  me  at  the  heart. 
Standing  there  in  the  spring  sunshine,  I 
shook  as  if  with  a  chill.  I,  the  cool  detective, 
who  had  found  more  than  one  missing  girl 
in  my  time,  was  as  helpless  as  the  little 
child  before  me,  when  it  came  to  a  question 
of  the  girl  I  loved.  Then  with  an  effort,  I 
pulled  myself  together,  and  began  question 
ing  Helen.  She  could  only  say  the  same 
thing  over  and  over — Poppy  went  to  the 
store,  and  she  had  never  returned.  Helen, 
it  seems,  had  put  the  younger  children  to 
bed  and  had  sat  up  all  night,  dozing  off  now 
and  then  in  her  chair  by  the  window,  watch 
ing  and  hoping  that  each  figure  that  turned 
the  corner  would  be  her  beloved  benefactor. 

209 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

By  the  clock,  it  must  have  been  about  ten 
minutes  later,  thought  it  seemed  ten  hours, 
when  Earl  appeared.  I  like  to  look  back  and 
remember  his  happy  laughing  eyes  as  he 
bounded  up  the  stairs,  and  handed  some 
chunky  packages  to  Helen.  Instantly  he 
saw  that  something  was  wrong.  Glancing 
from  the  child's  white  face  to  mine,  which 
perhaps  registered  more  apprehension  than 
I  realized,  he  cried,  " Where's  Poppy?" 

After  we  had  told  him,  I  thought  the  boy 
was  going  to  faint.  Then  he  lunged  forward, 
and  down  the  stairs  again.  Following,  I  saw 
him  enter  the  little  grocery  store  across  the 
street,  where  Poppy  did  her  marketing.  Al 
most  immediately  he  reappeared. 

"They  don't  recall  her  having  been  in  at 
all  yesterday,"  he  stammered.  "What  other 
clue  have  we  got  to  go  on?" 

"Earl,"  said  I,  "we've  got  to  put  this  into 
the  hands  of  the  police."  He  turned  sharply, 
"My  God,  Steve,  we  stand  no  chance  to  get 
help  there.  Poppy  is  a  union  girl,  and  we're 
all  poor  and " 

210 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Never  mind,  old  man,  we'll  have  to  re 
port  the  case  and  they  are  bound  to  make 
some  sort  of  an  investigation.  Hurry  now 
as  fast  as  you  can  and  then  see  the  press." 
Earl  groaned — "the  press,  why  they'll  not 
say  anything  to  help  and " 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  real 
izing  that  I  had  to  steady  him,  steadied  my 
own  quivering  nerves. 

"Listen,  Earl,  it's  like  this.  If  no  one  has 
bought  the  papers  up  to  make  no  mention  of 
her  disappearance,  they'll  be  glad  to  get 
a  hold  of  the  story  from  the  news  end. 
They're  always  looking  for  sensations,  and 
on  the  strength  of  their  not  having  been 
forbidden  to  publish  any  word  concerning 
Poppy,  they  may  decide  that  it  will  sell 
copies  of  the  paper  to  feature  the  story,  and 
in  that  way  we  will  reach  those  who  might 
give  us  a  clue  worth  working  on." 

Earl  nodded  comprehendingly,  and 
dashed  off  towards  town.  Going  back  to  the 
little  waiting  children,  I  sat  down  by  the 
table  where  they  were  eating  breakfast  and 
noted  the  careful  little  preparations  which 

211 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

had  been  made  for  the  picnic  that  was  not 
to  be. 

"Is  we  going  to  the  park  now?"  asked 
tearful  Freddy,  aged  six. 

I  took  him  up  on  my  knee  and  leaned' 
over  towards  the  "little  mother",  who  was 
trying  to  coax  the  others  to  eat  their  coarse 
cereal  and  thin  blue  milk. 

"Helen,"  said  I,  "I  want  you  to  try  to 
think  of  every  place  that  Poppy  ever  went, 
and  tell  me  where  it  is,  so  we  can  help  to 
find  her  quickly." 

"When  you  find  Poppy,  then  can  we  go 
to  the  Park  ? ' '  persisted  Freddy.  I  told  him 
yes  and  he  slipped  off  my  knee  and  went  to 
the  window,  where  he  looked  out  for  a  long, 
long  time. 

Helen  tried  hard  to  think,  but  there 
wasn't  any  place  but  the  shop  where  Poppy 
worked,  and  as  this  was  a  holiday,  she 
wouldn't  be  there.  Sometimes  she  went  to 
meetings  at  night,  when  Earl  came  and 
called  for  her,  but  not  very  often.  They 
didn't  know  the  other  people  in  the  house 
very  well,  as  they  had  not  been  there  long, 

212 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

but  we  might  ask  them  all  if  they  had  seen 
Poppy.  So  Helen  and  I  started  in  on  the 
top  floor,  and  paused  at  each  door  until  we 
came  to  the  basement.  No  one  had  seen  her 
after  she  had  left  the  room  in  which  she 
lived,  and  told  Helen  she  was  going  to  the 
store  a  moment.  Among  the  tenants,  I 
found  a  kindly  Scotch  woman  who  volun 
teered  to  look  to  the  children  until  Poppy 
came  back,  but  there  was  in  her  face  the 
same  fear  there  was  in  mine,  and  the  same 
expression  in  her  eyes.  Those  who  have  suf 
fered  poverty  are  banded  together  by  a 
common  tie.  They  know  the  dangers  that 
are  lurking  near.  Only  those  who  have 
fought  the  wolf  from  the  door  can  under 
stand  what  a  hungry  man  is  talking  about, 
and  only  those  who  have  felt  the  " system's 
hand"  creeping  up  on  them  from  behind 
and  flown  in  terror  from  its  clutches  could 
appreciate  the  agony  of  mind  I  was  in  over 
the  one  night's  disappearance  of  the  sweet- 
faced  girl. 

Towards    noon    Earl    returned,    utterly 
fagged   with   his    useless    searching,    and 

213 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

frantic  in  his  impotence  to  do  anything.  Up 
and  down  the  quiet  little  room  he  walked, 
sometimes  questioning  one  of  the  orphans, 
sometimes  stopping  as  if  to  listen  for  a  cer 
tain  voice,  and  then,  after  a  while,  he  sank 
into  a  chair  by  the  table  and  buried  his  head 

in  his  arms. 

•    *    « 

For  three  days  and  nights  this  suspense 
went  on.  The  papers  had  received  no  word 
to  suppress  the  story,  and  the  city  rang  with 
it.  Thousands  of  dollars  were  made  that 
week  by  a  half  dozen  dailies  out  of  the 
story  of  our  little  Poppy's  strange  disap 
pearance.  They  printed  the  picture  that 
Earl  had  carried,  and  described  the  "girl 
from  California"  as  we  had  described  her 
to  them,  but  because  we  had  so  little  to  tell 
and  because  they  must  say  more  than  that 
she  was  pretty  and  sweet  and  good,  and 
should  be  traced,  they  sent  reporters  to  the 
little  meager  home  where  the  frightened 
orphans  waited,  and  took  pictures  of  the 
children  and  printed  them,  and  intimated 
that  there  was  really  no  accounting  for 

214 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

working-girls — their  standards  were  not 
very  high;  these  children,  for  instance, 
whose  were  they,  anyway,  and  just  why  had 
this  young  girl  taken  so  keen  an  interest 
in  them"? 

When  Earl  read  these  insinuations,  he 
was  beside  himself  with  grief  and  indigna 
tion,  and  he  went  out,  and  among  the  vari 
ous  unions,  raised  what  he  thought  would  be 
enough  money  to  make  them  retract  any 
slander  they  had  printed.  But,  though  hun 
dreds  of  workers  taxed  themselves  volun 
tarily,  a  day's  pay  each,  to  help  place  Poppy 
right  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  it  was,  as 
Mr.  Mitchell  would  have  remarked,  not 
quite  enough.  Earl  divided  the  contribu 
tions  up  among  the  papers,  which  accepted 
the  money,  and  then  came  out  in  the  next 
issues  with  the  statement  that  the  lover  of 
the  girl  would  bear  watching.  He  had  tried 
to  bribe  them  to  hush  certain  matters  up, 
but  they  of  course  were  incorruptible. 

The  next  blow  to  fall  upon  the  little 
household  was  the  advent  of  the  officers 
from  the  Juvenile  Protective  Association. 

215 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Learning  of  the  children,  they  swooped 
down  upon  them,  and  bore  them  all  away. 
Shrieking,  as  with  mortal  pain,  Helen  tried 
to  fight  them  off.  They  had  been  that  par 
ticular  part  of  the  system  which  she  had 
dreaded  most  of  her  short  life,  and  at  last 
they  closed  in  upon  the  helpless  "  little 
mother".  Standing  with  her  arms  about  the 
frightened  younger  ones,  she  pleaded  not  to 
be  taken  away,  but  each  little  weeping 
brother  and  sister  was  separated  from  the 
other,  and  as  many  various  institutions  re 
ceived  them.  Looking  back  in  after  years, 
and  seeing  the  faces  of  so  many  sorrowful 
men  and  women  staring  through  the  mist  of 
time,  the  countenance  of  little  Freddy  looms 
up  clear  and  pathetic,  and  I  often  hear  his 
baby  voice  calling  out,  as  it  did  that  day 
they  carried  him  off  from  his. only  home  to 
a  charity  orphanage,  "Oh,  I  did  want  to  see 
the  park,  the  booful,  booful  park." 

Just  before  she  left,  and  while  she  was 
getting  the  children's  clothes  together,  sob 
bing  pitifully  as  she  moved  from  one  room 

216 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

to  another,  Helen  came  over  to  me  and 
placed  a  little  leaflet  in  my  hand. 

"That's  my  Sunday-school  lesson  for  next 
Sunday, ' '  she  said  brokenly.  ' '  Will  you  take 
it  to  the  teacher,  and  tell  them  why  we  can't 
come  any  more?" 

An  address  was  written  at  the  top  of  the 
page,  and  I  nodded  and  put  my  arm  about 
the  little  lonely  child. 

"It  was  a  nice  Sunday-school,"  she  con 
fided.  "One  morning  we  were  passing,  and 
heard  such  pretty  music.  Poppy  stopped 
to  let  us  hear,  and  the  lady  there  said  for  us 
to  come  back  again,  so  we  did,  and  they  were 
going  to  pay  Poppy  a  dollar  a  week  to  play 
the  organ,  'cause  the  other  player  was  go 
ing  away,  and  Poppy  said  that  some  night, 
after  she  came  home  from  the  shop,  she  was 
going  to  run  over  and  see  about  it,  but  I 
guess  she  must  have  forgot.  Poppy  did  love 
music  ,and  I  do,  too,  and  oh,  I  miss  her 
something  dreadful."  Here  the  child  laid 
her  head  down  on  my  shoulder,  and  cried  as 
if  her  heart  would  break. 

"Come,  come,"  said  the  sharp  voice  of 

217 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

• 

the  elderly  woman  who  was  rounding  up 
her  charges,  and  I  noticed  that  she  made 
several  notes  in  a  memoranda  book  she 
carried.  This  woman,  though  married,  had 
never  had  a  child  herself,  and  she  was  in 
great  demand  as  a  lecturer  before 
" Mothers'  Clubs"  and  " Parent  Associa 
tions  ",  as  an  authority  on  the  up-bringing 
of  the  young.  She  had  written  an  essay  on 
"The  Psychology  of  the  Child  Mind",  and 
was  now  getting  data  for  one  on  "The  Vul 
garity  of  Being  Poor". 

When  the  last  little  Hungarian,  that 
Poppy  had  so  loved  and  cared  for,  been 
taken  from  the  rooms,  Earl  came  in  from 
the  outside  and  sat  down. 

"I  couldn't  stand  it,"  he  said,  "I  simply 
couldn't.  I  used  to  think  that  we  workers 
were  going  to  get  out  into  the  light  some 
day,  but  we're  not.  Things  are  getting 
darker  every  minute.  They're  attacking  us 
from  every  angle." 

"The  darkest  hour  for  any  nation  is  the 
hour  before  its  dawning,"  I  said,  "and  Earl, 
that's  true  of  the  human  soul  as  well.  The 

218 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

workers  have  some  things  to  learn  yet  and 
they  must  learn  them  through  the  suffer 
ing  of  each  individual.  Try  to  get  that 
thought,  and  it  will  help  you  through  these 
crucial  days,  old  man.  You  are  a  part  of 
that  great  mass  which  will  rise  some  day  in 
all  its  power,  and  might,  and  be  weighed 
in  the  balance  and  found  not  wanting.  You 
and  all  those  other  millions  and  millions 
who  have  made  the  wealth  of  the  land,  and 
had  it  taken  from  you,  will  come  into  your 
own  some  day.  You,  who  have  known  cold 
backs,  and  empty  stomachs,  and  bleeding 
hearts,  are  bearing  all  these  things  that  the 
common  people  shall  be  free.  It  will  be  a 
glorious  day  when  it  comes,  Earl — won't 
you  try  to  think  of  that?" 

The  vision  caught  the  boy,  and  he  almost 
smiled  an  instant. 

"I  know,"  he  answered,  softly.  "IVe  al 
ways  known,  only  I  just  couldn't  seem  to 
say  it  that  way,  Steve.  Why,  when  IVe  been 
addressing  meetings  and  looked  down  into 
the  hungry,  care-worn  faces  of  the  men, 
men  on  whose  neck  the  iron  heel  had  pressed 

219 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

for  years,  I  tried  to  get  that  message  to 

them.  And  now " 

"And  now  you  WILL  get  it  to  them,  don't 
you  understand?" 

Earl  sat  silent  for  a  long  while,  his  head 
bowed  in  sorrow.  Years  had  been  added  to 
him  in  the  past  few  days. 

"The  police  say  they  have  exhausted 
every  clue,  Steve,  but  somehow  I  have 
thought  that  YOU  would  find  her  yet." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "I  am  going  to  find  her." 

Earl  looked  up  quickly. 

"Have  you  anything  to  go  on?"  he  cried. 

"I  will  find  Poppy,"  said  I,  slowly,  "but 
you  must  be  very,  very  brave." 

The  little  alarm  clock  that  used  to  sum 
mon  Poppy  to  the  day's  work  ticked  loudly 
from  a  shelf.  The  broken  toy  that  she  had 
gotten  once  for  Freddy  lay  neglected  on  a 
wooden  chair.  The  kindly  Scotch  woman 
who  lived  in  the  basement  came  in  and 
started  a  fire  in  the  range,  and  said  she'd 
make  us  both  some  tea. 

220 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

The  hot  June  sunshine  fell  on  Earl's 
bowed  head,  and  leaving  him  sitting  there 
with  his  anguished  thoughts,  I  slipped 
away,  for  I  had  many  matters  to  attend  to. 


221 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  Mission  Sunday-school,  where  little 
Helen  and  her  brothers  and  sisters  had  gone, 
stood  on  a  narrow,  dirty  side  street,  and 
was  nothing  more  or  less  than  a  vacant 
store.  I  found  an  old  Bohemian  woman 
scrubbing  the  floor  when  I  stopped,  and  I 
asked  her  where  I  would  find  the  teacher 
whose  name  was  on  the  leaflet  Helen  had 
given  me,  but  she  understood  so  little  Eng 
lish  that  I  got  no  satisfaction. 

I  strolled  about  the  place,  noting  colored 
pictures  on  the  wall,  and  a  blackboard  or 
two,  and  then  I  glanced  at  the  little  old- 
fashioned  organ  that  Poppy  had  considered 
playing  for  the  sum  of  one  dollar  a  week,  so 
the  Hungarians  might  have  another  slice  of 
bread  around,  I  suppose.  Had  she  ever  kept 
her  appointment  to  talk  the  matter  over, 
and  who  had  talked  to  her  if  she  had?  All 
about  the  long,  low  room  I  walked.  I  opened 
the  back  door,  and  looked  out  on  a  filthy 
alley.  Then  I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  benches 

223 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

which  were  placed  crosswise  before  a  small 
improvised  platform,  and  concentrated  on 
the  question.  I  put  my  emotions  to  one 
side,  and  forced  myself  to  make  a  study  of 
the  case  of  Poppy's  disappearance,  as  a  de 
tective,  pure  and  simple. 

That  evening,  as  I  was  turning  in  to  the 
driveway  of  the  Gemble  mansion,  I  encoun 
tered  Okagowa  coming  out.  He  grinned  in 
his  friendly  way. 

"How  you  feel?"  he  asked. 

"All  right,"  I  answered.  "Why?" 

Okagowa  shrugged.  "Me  see  something 
big  on  your  mind — you  terrible  worried," 
replied  the  Japanese  boy,  gravely. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  I  asked,  wishing 
to  change  the  subject. 

"Get  cligilettes  for  Mr.  Walton — he  heap 
sick." 

"You  go  get  them,  and  I'll  take  them  up," 
said  I. 

Okagowa  grinned  again.  "You  lika  see 
fine  bedroom  of  millionaire?"  he  questioned. 

I  nodded,  and  he  disappeared,  and  in  a 
few  moments  returned  with  a  package  of 

224 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  highest-priced  cigarettes  on  the  market. 
I  took  them,  and  entered  the  house,  and 
made  my  way  up  the  back  stairway  to  the 
second  floor.  The  thick  carpet  deadened  my 
footfalls,  and  no  one  heard  me  until  I 
knocked  at  the  door  which  Okagowa  had 
described  as  Mr.  Walton's. 

"Come,"  called  a  peevish  voice,  and  I 
went  in  and  closed  the  door  behind  me. 

Walton  Gemble  lay  in  a  costly  brass  bed 
stead  with  the  silk  comforters  pulled  close 
about  him,  though  the  day  was  very  warm. 

He  peered  at  me  a  moment  in  stupid  won 
derment,  then  frowned  and  let  out  an  oath. 

"What  the  hell  do  you  want?"  he  snarled. 

I  didn't  answer,  but  handed  him  the  pack 
age  of  cigarettes. 

"Where's  that  fool  of  a  Jap?"  he  asked. 

"Okagowa  was  called  away  to  attend  to 
something  of  importance,  and  I  offered  to 
brings  these  up  to  you,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  you  can  go  now,"  and  he  turned 
his  face  away. 

"Would  you  care  to  see  the  day's 
papers?"  I  volunteered. 

225 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

He  darted  a  quick  look  in  my  direction. 

"No,"  he  snapped,  "what  do  I  want  to 
see  them  for?" 

"There's  news  in  them  which  might  take 
3rour  mind  off  your  worry,"  said  I. 

"Worry — who  says  I'm  worried?"  he 
cried,  half  sitting  up  in  bed.  "I'm  sick,  do 
you  hear,  sick,  the  doctor  says  so,  and  now 
get  out." 

But  I  only  stood  quite  close  to  the  bed 
looking  down  on  him,  and  my  mind  worked 
very  rapidly.  Gemble  became  infuriated. 
He  swore  and  threatened  to  use  violence  if 
I  delayed  another  instant. 

"Who  are  you,  anyway?"  he  asked. 

"You  know  I  am  the  gardener,"  I  an 
swered,  quietly,  noting  the  extreme  nerv 
ousness  with  which  he  eyed  me. 

"Then  if  you're  the  gardener,  get  out  and 
garden,"  and  he  ended  the  interview  by 
pulling  the  coverings  entirely  over  his  head. 

The  day  passed  and  night  came,  but  I 
didn't  go  to  my  room.  I  avoided  Earl  and 
indeed  every  one.  I  sat  in  a  little  restaurant 

226 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

on  the  West  Side,  and  waited  for  midnight. 
Then  I  .walked  over  to  the  mission  Sunday- 
school  and  opened  the  door  with  a  skeleton 
key.  Again  the  gaudy  pictures  stared  at  me, 
revealed  by  the  light  of  a  street  lamp  which 
shone  in  above  the  curtain  which  covered 
the  lower  part  of  the  window.  Mary,  and 
Mary  Magdalene,  and  the  Carpenter,  who 
had  organized  twelve  men  of  various  crafts 
into  one  union,  all  looked  down  at  me  and 
their  faces  were  very,  very  sad,  for  they  had 
witnessed  the  iniquities  of  two  thousand 
years,  committed  in  their  names,  and  as  yet, 
they  had  borne  in  silence  and  with  patience. 
The  front  door  and  the  back  door  and  the 
plain  bare  room  was  all  that  was  to  be  seen, 
but  I  was  a  detective,  and  as  such,  must  see 
more  than  others  would  or  could. 

Getting  out  my  pocket-knife,  I  loosened  a 
strip  of  oilcloth  that  ran  down  what  might 
have  been  called  the  center  aisle.  At  the 
far  end,  toward  the  back,  was  a  square  of 
boarding  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  floor 
on  three  sides,  and  on  the  fourth  side,  fas 
tened  to  it  by  a  couple  of  rusty  hinges.  I 

227 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

inserted  the  blade  of  the  knife,  and  raised 
the  trap-door.  Then  I  let  myself  drop  down 
on  to  some  soft  earth  below.  The  darkness 
was  absolute.  I  took  out  my  flashlight,  and 
discovered  a  few  broken  boxes,  and  some 
old  iron.  I  moved  cautiously.  I  knew  what 
I  had  come  to  find,  but  when  I  found  it,  the 
blood  in  my  body  seemed  to  freeze,  and  for 
a  moment,  my  brain  reeled.  Like  the  Car 
penter  above,  I  moaned,  "My  God,  why 
hast  thou  forsaken  me'?"  and  the  an 
guish  that  I  endured  can  never  be  put  on  to 
paper.  Tenderly  and  with  great  sobs  tear 
ing  my  throat,  I  touched  the  mutilated  little 
form  of  Poppy,  and  then  crept  back  and  out 
on  to  the  street  again. 

Crossing  over  to  a  corner  saloon,  I  tele 
phoned  to  Jerry  Maloy,  and  then  sat  down 
and  waited.  Jerry  was  a  messenger  boy 
whom  I  had  known  out  West,  and  whom  I 
had  befriended  once.  I  met  him  going  into 
the  Gemble  mansion  with  a  message  one 
day,  and  he  recognized  me,  but  only  winked, 
and  putting  his  finger  on  his  lips,  murmured, 
"Mum's  the  word,  boss,  but  I'm  sure  glad 

228 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

to  see  you  again;  let  me  know  if  I  can  ever 
be  of  any  service  to  you."  Poor  little  fellow, 
grown  old  before  his  time  with  hard  usage; 
an  orphan,  and  ambitious,  as  he  told  me 
once,  to  make  something  of  himself. 

After  awhile  he  came,  breathless  and 
eager.  " What's  the  idea,  Mr.  Doyle,"  he 
whispered,  dropping  into  a  chair  where  I 
sat  beside  a  small  table  in  a  back  room.  But 
when  he  got  a  good  look  at  my  face  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  flickering  gas-jet,  he  gulped 
hard,  and  caught  my  arm  roughly. 

"My  God,  what  have  they  done  to  you?" 
he  asked  quickly,  and  glanced  around  the 
nearly  empty  room. 

"Sit  up  and  keep  cool,  and  listen  atten 
tively  to  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you,"  said 
I,  and  then  leaning  forward,  I  looked  into 
the  boy's  honest  eyes  and  began. 

"Jerry,  organized  labor  here  in  Chicago, 
has,  through  the  central  body,  offered  a 
reward  of  five  hundred  dollars  for  the  find 
ing  of  the  missing  girl,  Poppy  Grant.  Have 
you  followed  the  story  at  all?" 

He  nodded.    "Sure,  I  read  everything." 

229 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Very  well,  then,  after  I  have  explained 
things  to  you,  go  to  the  police  and  tell  them 
what  you  know.  Don't  mention  my  name 
in  connection  with  the  case.  Simply  say  you 
stumbled  on  to  a  clue  which  led  to  the 
finding." 

Shaken  as  I  was  with  my  own  personal 
suffering,  and  wishing  to  do  a  kindness  to 
the  boy,  I  was  unmindful  of  the  peril  in 
which  I  was  placing  him.  At  another  time,  I 
would  have  seen  this — now  I  saw  only  one 
thing,  and  I  moved  towards  it  with  a  deadly 
sureness  of  aim.  All  my  past  training  came 
to  my  aid,  and  forced  me  to  proceed  with 
the  deliberation  of  the  detective,  rather  than 
with  the  haste  and  passion  of  the  man,  but 
so  centered  was  I  on  the  course  which  I 
intended  to  pursue  that  for  many  days,  I 
scarcely  ate  or  slept.  I  rose  above  the  needs 
of  the  flesh  and  lived  as  in  a  world  apart. 

Jerry  listened  to  the  tragedy  with 
staring  eyes,  and  then  went  quickly 
and  quietly  away  to  do  my  bidding. 
I  think  he  must  have  sensed  some 
thing  of  what  Poppy  had  been  to  me,  for  he 

230 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

said  with  a  little  break  in  his  voice,  as  he 
turned  to  go,  "It's  awfully  kind  of  you  to 
throw  the  five  hundred  my  way,  Mr.  Doyle, 
and  I'm  so  sorry  about  the  young  lady,  I 
just  don't  what  what  to  say." 

Long  afterwards,  he  told  me  the  details 
of  that  night,  and  early  morning.  The  police 
had  let  him  lead  them  to  the  spot  where  the 
body  lay,  and  then  had  put  him  through  the 
third  degree,  to  make  him  tell  what  more  he 
knew. 

"I  told  them  that  was  all,"  said  he,  in 
relating  the  story  to  me,  "but  you  see  they 
were  peeved  because  they  had  been  outwit 
ted  by  a  messenger  boy,  and  so  they  took  it 
out  on  me. ' ' 

"  'How  did  you  come  to  find  the  body,' 
they  would  ask,  and  I  would  tell  them  how 
I  was  rummaging  down  there  for  some  old 
iron  to  sell,  and  they  would  say,  'There's 
some  man  back  of  this,  you  know  his  name, 
tell  it  to  us  or  we'll  make  you  tell,'  and  then 
they  tried  all  different  methods  to  enforce 
confession.  I  was  strung  up  by  my  hands 
to  a  bar  hanging  over  a  door,  and  with  my 

231 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

feet  just  off  the  floor,  was  left  to  dangle 
there  until  I  fainted  from  the  pain.  My 
hands  swelled  and  turned  purple,  and  I 
nearly  chewed  my  tongue  up  with  the  agony. 
Sometimes  a  big,  burly  fellow  would  kick  me 
as  I  hung  there,  and  growl  at  me,  'Will  you 
tell  now?'  Then  they'd  put  me  in  a  great 
big  tub,  or  rather  tank,  of  freezing  water, 
and  when  I  had  no  longer  any  strength  to 
swim,  I'd  invent  a  sort  of  bobbing  up  and 
down  to  keep  from  drowning.  Here,  too, 
I  generally  fainted,  for  I  have  a  weak  heart. 
It  was  when  the  authorities  were  experi 
menting  with  the  barrel,  rolling  me  back  and 
forth  across  it,  and  each  time  I  went  forward 
striking  my  head  with  terrific  force  upon 
the  cement  floor  that  an  idea  came  to  me, 
and  when  they  got  through  with  that  tor 
ture,  and  were  debating  what  they  would 
try  next,  I  said, '  What  are  you  wasting  your 
time  on  me  for?  I've  told  you  the  truth.  I 
don't  know  anything  about  the  murder  of 
that  girl.  I  only  found  her  body,  that's  all. 
Why  don't  you  find  out  who  owns  and  runs 
that  mission?  They  might  be  able  to  put 

232 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

you  wise/  and  there  were  three  of  them 
looking  down  at  me,  and  they  just  ex 
changed  glances,  and  one  of  them  said,  'I 
never  thought  of  that,'  but  they  beat  it,  and 
I  got  a  chance  to  lie  still,  and  endure  the 
misery  they  had  caused  me  without  any 
more  being  added  to  it.  I  had  been  arrested 
without  even  being  booked,  so  none  of  my 
friends  knew  where  I  was  for  several  days, 
but  I  felt  pretty  sure  that  the  police  were 
anxious  to  find  the  murderer,  as  they  hadn't 
been  able  to  find  the  body,  and  I  figured  my 
troubles  would  soon  be  over." 

Jerry  was  right.  They  were  anxious  to 
redeem  themselves  in  the  eyes  of  the  public, 
as  its  guardians,  and  they  acted  immediately 
upon  his  advice,  and  began  investigations. 
The  chief  of  the  force  called  on  the  Board 
of  Trustees  of  the  fashionable  North  Side 
church  when  they  learned  they  were  in 
charge  of  the  little  West  Side  mission,  and 
requested  a  list  of  the  teachers  and  others 
engaged  in  carrying  on  the  work. 

Elder  Fields,  quaking  inwardly  at  the 
233 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

intrusion  of  this  uniformed  man  into  his 
luxuriously  appointed  home,  put  on  his  most 
sanctimonious  manner,  and  declared  that 
the  chief  would  have  to  see  the  superintend 
ent  about  the  personnel  of  the  mission.  The 
murder,  or  could  it  have  been  suicide — one 
can  never  tell  about  these  working-girls — 
was  sad,  very  sad  indeed,  but  he  himself 
had  not  the  time  to  visit  the  mission,  as  he 
said,  the  superintendent  ought  to  know  what 
the  chief  wanted  to  find  out,  and  if  there 
was  any  other  way  he  could  be  of  use  to  the 
arm  of  the  law  in  any  future  matters,  he, 
Elder  Fields,  would  be  only  too  happy  to 
assist.  It  was  our  police  that  made*  the 
cities  safe  for  democracy,  and  oh,  yes,  the 
name  of  the  superintendent — w^ell,  they  had 
been  very  fortunate  in  securing  the  services 
of  the  wealthy  }^oung  Walton  Gemble,  who 
had  just  returned  from  Europe,  and  was  so 
interested  in  the  study  of  the  foreign  peo 
ples.  There  were  really  quite  a  few  of  them 
in  Chicago,  didn't  the  chief  think  so,  and  it 
was  really  hard  to  tell  what  we  were  coming 
to  in  these  days,  when  so  few  of  the  young 

234 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

men  took  any  real  interest  in  the  spreading 
of  the  gospel,  and — 

The  policeman  had  jotted  down  the 
address,  and  was  making  for  the  mansion 
on  Sheridan  Road. 

The  papers  had  announced  the  finding  of 
the  body,  and  intimated  that  several  sus 
pects  had  been  arested.  Still  no  one  had 
bade  them  keep  silent. 

The  coroner  had  testified  that  the  girl  had 
been  brutally  attacked,  then  choked  to 
death. 

Poor  Earl — I  did  not  deem  it  best  to  be 
with  him  in  those  first  awful  hours.  I  had 
to  let  him  think  the  worst  of  me,  and  appear 
to  fail  him  when  he  needed  my  friendship 
the  most.  It  wrung  my  heart  to  picture  him 
identifying  Poppy  at  the  morgue.  The 
second  day  I  got  a  note  from  him,  saying 
he  had  tried  in  vain  to  find  me  at  the  Gem- 
bles,  but  I  was  never  there  when  he  called, 
and  no  one  knew  where  I  was.  He  had 
thought  me  true  to  him,  but  he  realized  his 
mistake.  "You  remember  you  said  you 
would  find  her/'  he  had  written.  "You  not 

235 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

only  failed  to  do  that,  but  you  have  failed 
me  as  a  friend.  As  a  detective,  and  as  a 
man,  I  am  through  with  you." 

Poor  Earl — it  was  hard  to  keep  from  going 
to  him  then  and  trying  to  comfort  his  lacer 
ated  heart,  but  I  had  gotten  to  that  pass 
where  I  could  let  anything  wait  until  I 
finished  what  I  had  to  do. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Okagowa 
flew  to  me,  as  I  stood  on  the  back  steps, 
watching  a  certain  upper  window,  and  his 
comical  little  face  was  white  with  terror. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Doyle,  one  time  boy  tell  me  at 
Gospel  Mission,  no  let  harness-bulls  catch 
me.  Big  one  at  front  door  now — I  no  lika 
open,  what  I  do?" 

"Stay  here  and  I  will  let  him  in."  I 
walked  through  the  house  and  answered  the 
second  impatient  ring  of  the  chief  of  police. 
He  spoke  quickly  and  to  the  point. 

"Gembles  live  here?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

" Walton  Gemble?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Tell  him  I  wish  to  see  him." 

236 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Yes,  sir." 

Neither  of  us  had  moved,  and  the  officer 
pushed  his  way  into  the  hall. 

"You  heard  what  I  said?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  why  don't  you  get  a  wiggle  on 
your  creepers?" 

"Mr.  Gemble  is  sick  in  bed,  sir." 

"Take  me  up  to  him." 

"Yes,  sir." 

I  led  the  way  up  the  wide  stairs  and  down 
the  heavily  carpeted  hall.  If  he  wondered 
why  I,  a  servant,  did  not  knock,  he  did  not 
say  so.  We  simply  went  into  the  room  and 
closed  the  door  behind  us. 

Walton  Gemble  and  his  mother  were  the 
only  occupants  of  the  room,  and  they  both 
started  violently  when  they  looked  up  and 
saw  who  stood  there.  The  woman  was  the 
first  to  recover. 

"Stephen,  what  does  this  intrusion 
mean?"  she  asked,  in  her  usual  haughty 
manner,  addressing  her  remark  to  me,  and 
appearing  to  ignore  the  officer. 

237 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

The  atmosphere  of  wealth  was  not  lost 
upon  the  man.  He  took  off  his  hat. 

"You  will  pardon  my  visit,  madam,  but  it 
becomes  my  painful  duty  to  make  some  in 
quiries  of  your  son  concerning  the  mission 
Sunday-School  where  he  is  superintendent, 
and  where  the  body  of  a  young  woman  was 
found  in  the  basement  yesterday." 

The  figure  in  the  bed  seemed  to  slip  down 
out  of  sight. 

Mrs.  Gemble  smiled  sarcastically.  "Oh, 
yes,  I  believe  I  did  read  something  about  it 
in  the  papers.  Unfortunate,  wasn't  it?  You 
try  to  help  those  wretched  beggars,  and  they 
keep  right  on  fighting,  and  even  killing  each 
other  in  the  very  church  itself.  Walty,  dear, 
try  to  rouse  yourself  and  tell  this  gentleman 
what  he  wants  to  know.  Of  course,  chief,  I 
rely  on  your  tact  to  spare  my  son  any  har 
rowing  details.  He  has  been  really  quite  ill 
for  several  days  now,  and  has  not  seemed 
to  care  for  visitors  at  all." 

The  officer  bowed.  He  evidently  intended 
to  talk  with  the  boy  alone,  and  Mrs.  Gemble 
saw  he  was  waiting.  As  she  passed  out  of 

238 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  room,  I  followed,  and  she  turned  to  me 
for  the  first  time,  with  her  mask  off. 

"Listen,"  she  almost  hissed  into  my  ear, 
"there  at  the  keyhole,"  and,  dropping  to  my 
knees,  I  heard  the  conversation  between  the 
two  in  the  bedroom. 

The  officer  asked  a  few  perfunctory  ques 
tions.  Walton  answered  them  in  a  muffled 
tone.  Then  the  officer  said,  "This  young 
woman,  Poppy  Grant — did  you  ever  have 
any  words  with  her?" 

"Not  many,"  came  the  reply. 

"And  what  were  they  about?" 

"About  playing  the  organ.  She  claimed 
she  could  do  it,  but  I  never  heard  her." 

"I  think,  Mr.  Q-emble,"  said  the  officer, 
'that  I  will  have  to  ask  you  to  get  up  and 
drive  over  to  the  mission  with  me.  There 
are  some  questions  I  can  settle  better  if  we 
are  both  on  the  place  together.  We  will  call 
and  take  the  other  men  teachers  with  us." 

"The  teachers  are  all  women,"  almost 
groaned  Walton. 

"Indeed,"  replied  the  officer.  "Then  we 
239 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

will  not  trouble  them  just  now.    You  and  I 
will  go  over  the  ground  alone. " 

"I'm  sick,"  whined  Walton.    "I'm— 

"Yes,  so  sorry,"  apologized  the  officer. 
"Just  as  soon  as  you  can,  please.  I  will  wait 
here  by  the  window  while  you  dress." 

The  man  was  clever — he  knew  there  were 
big  possibilities  ahead — big,  anyway  it  went. 
It  took  the  chief  to  handle  these  really  deli 
cate  matters — no  rough  stuff  here. 

The  next  morning,  the  papers  announced 
that  young  Walton  G-emble  had  collapsed 
on  the  floor  of  the  mission  when  taken  there 
to  explain  certain  matters  to  the  chief  of 
police,  and  the  chief  had  placed  him  under 
arrest  pending  further  investigation  of  the 
murder  of  the  young  girl,  Poppy  Grant,  who 
worked  in  a  millinery  shop  six  days  of  the 
week,  and  was,  so  far  as  could  be  learned, 
contemplating  the  playing  of  a  Mission 
Sunday-School  organ  on  the  seventh  day. 
Great  mystery  had  surrounded  her  disap 
pearance,  and  the  finding  of  the  body,  three 
and  a  half  days  later,  by  a  messenger  boy, 
in  the  basement  of  the  mission  itself,  pointed 

240 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

to  a  very  brutal  attack  before  the  life  was 
finally  choked  out  of  the  victim,  finger 
marks  being  plainly  seen  about  the  throat 
of  the  once  pretty  girl.  Needless  to  say,  this 
was  the  last  time  the  press  mentioned  Wal 
ton's  name  in  connection  with  the  affair, 
save  as  briefly  as  possible.  Mrs.  Gemble 
had  telephoned  for  Mitchell  as  soon  as  Wal 
ton  was  arrested,  and  the  two  of  them  had 
been  closeted  for  an  hour  or  more,  during 
which  time  angry  words  could  be  heard 
from  both  of  them,  and  the  tearful  pleadings 
of  the  woman  were  silenced  by  oaths  from 
the  man. 

When  Mitchell  finally  left  the  house,  I 
took  out  my  watch.  I  gave  the  private 
operatives,  whom  I  knew  he  had  gone  to 
employ,  exactly  an  hour  to  be  on  the  job. 
They  were  not  late.  Starting  in  with  the 
maids,  they  began  a  systematic  course  of 
instruction  ending  in  each  case  with  the 
presentation  of  a  bribe.  The  alibi  was  very 
simple  and  every  one  had  learned  it  by 
heart,  when  they  finally  came  to  me. 

"You  are  the  gardener?"  asked  an  inso- 
241 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

lent-looking  fellow,  who  always  dressed  in 
the  height  of  fashion,  and  swaggered  a  bit 
while  he  worked. 

"lam.?1 

"Very  well.  On  the  night  of  the  29th  of 
May,  you  remember  distinctly  that  Walton 
Gemble  did  not  leave  this  house.  He  was 
partially  ill  at  the  time.  Doctor  Hilton  will 
swear  that  he  attended  him  then.  He  was 
running  a  slight  temperature  and  of  course 
would  not  be  going  around.  So  far  as  you 
know,  he  was  confined  to  his  bed.  Being  an 
outside  servant,  you  could  not  swear  to  that; 
however,  you  can  swear  to  it  that  his  car 
which  he  always  drives,  never  left  the 
garage.  You  are  certain  of  this,  because 
you  looked  in  and  saw  it  there  when  you 
went  up  to  your  room  above  the  cars,  about 
midnight,  we  will  say."  He  paused,  and 
flicked  a  speck  of  cigar  ash  from  his  coat. 
He  smoked  indolently  while  he  talked. 
"And,  by  the  way,"  he  added,  as  if  an  after 
thought  had  come  to  him,  "the  trial  will 
naturally  put  all  the  help  out  a  little.  Mrs. 
Gemble  does  not  wish  any  one  to  be  too 

242 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

much  inconvenienced  in  their  routine  work. 
Here  is  a  little  sum  to  make  the  trouble  you 
have  to  go  to  as  a  witness  entirely  worth 
while. ' '  He  handed  me  a  roll  of  bills.  The 
denomination  was  small,  however.  The 
number  of  the  crisp  greenbacks  looked  like 
a  lot  more  than  it  really  was. 

I  stood  silent  and  failed  to  take  the  money. 
The  operative  glanced  at  me  sharply.  He 
had  been  looking  the  other  way  when  he 
presented  the  roll.  People  are  known  to 
accept  a  gift  of  this  kind  more  readily  if  it 
is  presented  gracefully,  and  in  an  off-hand 
way,  so  to  speak. 

A  slow  smile  of  utter  contempt  rested  on 
the  fellow's  face. 

"Aha,"  said  he,  "and  so  we  have  one  of 
those  high-priced  gentlemen  with  us,  have 
we  ?  Just  how  much  did  you  figure  that  the 
little  job  was  worth?" 

"I  accept  no  job,"  I  replied,  and  turned  as 
if  to  leave. 

The  man  suddenly  became  alert,  and 
caught  me  by  the  shoulder. 

"Look  here,  now,"  and  he  spoke  roughly. 

243 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Cut  out  that  comedy  stuff,  and  name  your 
price. 

"There  is  nothing  further  from  my  mind 
than  comedy,"  said  I,  "but  I  have  no  price." 

The  man  gazed  at  me  in  a  baffled  way  for 
a  moment,  then  he  laughed  nervously,  and 
leaning  close,  said  in  a  vicious  tone,  "You 
damn  fool,  do  you  know  you  are  playing 
with  fire?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied  "I  think  I  realize 
that  even  better  than  you  do." 

Again  he  seemed  at  a  loss  to  know  what 
words  to  use  or  how  to  handle  a  man  who 
said  he  had  no  price. 

"I  believe  you're  a  crook,"  he  said, 
slowly,  eyeing  me  as  if  I  were  an  object  of 
disgust,  "and  I  am  on  to  your  little  game. 
Will  a  thousand  satisfy  you,  eh?" 

The  man  wearied  me  inexpressibly,  but  I 
seemed  to  have  to  go  through  with  the 
matter. 

"Listen,"  said  I,  "I  am  neither  a  fool  nor 
a  crook,  but  I  heard  Walton  drive  his  car 
into  the  garage  between  four  and  five  o'clock 
en  the  morning  of  the  30th.  He  swore 

244 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

loudly  as  he  does  when  intoxicated.  I 
suppose  it  was  his  noise  that  woke  me  up." 

The  operative  started,  and  his  eyes  nar 
rowed.  ' '  So  you  got  the  goods  on  him,  have 
youl  And  you  think  your  testimony  will 
bring  you  more  from  the  other  side?  Let 
me  tell  you  something.  This  girl  hadn't  a 
friend  in  the  world  who  isn't  as  poor  as  she 
was.  They  couldn't  give  you  anything. 
They're  only  a  bunch  of  union-workers." 

An  hour  later,  Mrs.  Gemble  sent  for  me 
to  come  to  her  in  the  library.  I  don't  know 
why  it  was  called  that, — nobody  ever  read 
any  books  there,  but  the  furnishings  were 
very  rich  and  magnificent,  and  as  I  entered 
the  room,  I  saw  Mrs.  Gemble  sitting  in  the 
softened  light  of  many  shaded  electric 
lamps,  and  holding  a  book  as  they  hold  them 
on  the  stage,  when  the  curtain  goes  up,  and 
the  actress  is  discovered  carelessly  reading 
an  absorbing  novel.  She  had  made  one  slight 
mistake,  however, — the  volume  was  upside 
down  in  her  hand. 

Concealing  her  agitation  under  a  manner 
of  cool  scorn  for  the  servant  who  had  been 

245 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

sent  to  her  for  reprimanding,  she  remarked, 
"I  am  informed,  Stephen,  that  you  have 
taken  a  very  ugly  prejudice  against  a  friend 
whom  I  sent  to  you  to  arrange  the  details  of 
how  I  wish  the  help  to  appear  at  the  exam 
ination  of  my  son  Walton.  The  whole  affair 
is  most  trying,  and  this  is  no  time  for  you 
to  manifest  personal  dislikes. " 

I  bowed,  and  after  awhile,  she  continued, 
with  more  impatience  in  her  voice  than 
before. 

"Why  do  you  object  to  doing  as  you  are 
toldf 

"I  object  to  lying,  that's  all." 

Mrs.  Gemble  dropped  the  book  and  rose 
quickly. 

"What  do  you  know  of  this  terrible  trou 
ble,  anyway?" 

"I  know  everything,"  I  replied,  and  the 
woman  sank  back  into  her  chair  with  a  low 
groan.  After  a  moment  she  got  control  of 
herself  again. 

"Listen,"  she  cried,  "it  is  impossible  for 
you  to  know  everything.  You  don't  even 
know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

246 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Mrs.  Gemble,"  said  I,  "you  have  played 
your  cards  very  cleverly,  but  the  servants 
in  your  kitchen  have  long  gossiped  about 
you,  while  the  guests  at  your  table  ate  your 
cake  and  drank  your  wine  and  preferred  to 
believe  what  tale  you  chose  to  tell.  It  is 
that  way  with  our  rich  Americans,  you  have 
bought  apparently  everything,  from  the 
government  of  our  country  down  to  the  man 
who  carries  away  your  garbage  and  cleans 
out  your  sewer,  but  you  are  unmindful  of 
the  fact  that  the  system  you  employ  is 
always  laughing  at  you  behind  your  back/' 

She  regarded  me  with  an  expression  of 
frozen  terror.  "How  dare  you!"  3 he 
breathed.  "How  dare  you ! ' ' 

"One  dares  anything  who  has  no  fear," 
said  I. 

Mrs.  Gemble  trembled  with  mingled  emo 
tions,  but  she  put  up  her  bluff  once  more. 
"You  are  dismissed  from  my  employ,"  she 
said. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "I  was  going  anyway — my 
work  is  nearly  finished."  As  I  turned  to 
leave  the  room,  she  called  me  sharply. 

247 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Stephen,  what  do  you  think  you  know 
about  my  son?  You  may  tell  me,  but  be 
quick  about  it." 

"He  is  a  murderer,"  said  I,  "but  I  prefer 
to  let  the  law  take  its  course  in  the  case 
rather  than  attending  to  it  myself.  The 
latter  would  have  given  me  more  personal 
satisfaction,  but  the  greater  good  to  the 
greater  number  can  best  be  served  this 
way." 

A  fit  of  hysterical  sobbing  shook  the 
woman,  and  she  kept  repeating — "It's  a  lie, 
a  lie,  you  know  it's  a  lie." 

"No."  I  replied,  "it's  not  a  lie.  and  you 
know  it's  not." 

She  wept  brokenly  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  threw  herself  on  my  mercy. 

"Oh,  spare  us,  Stephen,  spare  us.  What 
have  I  ever  done  to  you  that  you  should 
bring  this  trouble  on  me?" 

"You  brought  this  trouble  on  yourself, 
Mrs.  Gemble." 

The  thrust  went  home.  "Oh,  yes,  it's  my 
fault.  He  was  born,  marked.  All  the  nine 
months  that  I  carried  him,  I  was  trying  to 

248 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

kill  him.  I  didn't  want  a  child.  I  used 
every  means  to  thwart  his  coming.  I  am 
the  one  to  blame,  but  spare  me.  and  I  will 
give  you  anything  you  ask." 

The  same  old  cry.  The  same  old  method 
of  covering  up  the  sins  of  those  who  have 
acquired  the  wealth  of  all  the  land,  and 
through  that  wealth,  the  power.  Better 
had  it  been  written  in  the  Declaration,  "of 
money,  for  money,  and  by  money, "  for  the 
People  would  not  then  have  felt  the 
mockery. 

That  same  evening  Mitchell  sent  for  me. 
He  had  been  summoned  to  the  house  by  Mrs. 
Gemble,  after  her  fruitless  interview  with 
me,  and  I  realized  that  this  was  playing  the 
trump  card  in  her  hand.  No  one  had  ever 
resisted  the  great  financier. 

The  man  was  seated  in  a  massive  leather 
chair  in  a  room  more  nearly  like  a  den  than 
any  other  in  the  mansion,  and  the  one  to 
which  Mitchell  often  repaired,  as  if  he  had 
a  proprietary  right  in  it.  He  looked  at  me 
as  if  to  express  his  utter  distaste  of  having 
to  come  into  such  close  contact  with  a  crea- 

249 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ture  of  the  working  world.  As  he  had  said, 
he  never  handled  these  details  himself,  and 
here  was  a  case  that  had  failed  to  respond 
to  the  treatment  his  agents  had  accorded  it. 

He  didn't  call  me  by  name.  I  was  to 
him,  nameless.  He  simply  threw  a  roll  of 
bills  on  the  table,  and  ordered  me  to  count 
them.  I  did  so. 

How  much  is  there?7'  he  asked,  keeping 
his  eyes  on  a  picture  by  a  great  artist,  which 
was  hanging  on  the  wall. 

" Twenty-five  thousand  dollars,"  I  re 
plied. 

"Is  that  sufficient  to  make  you  take  the 
night  train  for  the  West  and  stay  there  the 
rest  of  your  life?" 

I  shook  my  head — Mitchell  grew  pale  with 
rage.  He  pressed  his  lips  tightly  together, 
and  thought  hard  for  an  instant.  Then  he 
threw  another  roll  on  the  table,  and  said,  as 
if  his  hate  for  me  was  boundless,  "There  is 
twenty-five  thousand  more.  Fifty,  in  all, 
but  not  another  damn  cent  do  you  get,  you 
infernal  scoundrel,  }^ou  blackguard.  Take 
it  and  go,  and  if  you  fail  to  leave  Chicago 

250 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

tonight,  you  will  pay  for  your  delay  with 
your  worthless  life." 

Still  I  stood  quietly  by  the  table,  my  arms 
folded,  and  my  eyes  on  the  man  who  had 
boasted  that  one  could  buy  anything  on 
earth,  if  he  only  had  the  price. 

"Mr.  Mitchell,"  said  I,  "is  it  possible 
that  you  have  never  met  a  man  before  who 
wouldn't  take  a  bribe  f 

For  the  first  time,  he  gave  me  a  thorough 
scrutiny.  He  was  puzzled,  more  puzzled 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  long  successful 
life.  He  was  also  very  shrewd,  and  I  think 
he  was  asking  himself  the  question — "who 
is  this  servant  in  this  house  ?" 

Then  he  leaned  forward,  and  said  in  a 
milder  tone.  "I  am  doing  this  as  a  friend 
of  Mrs.  Gemble.  She  is  a  widow,  and  in 
great  anxiety  now  about  her  son.  He  is  not 
at  all  well,  and  these  fool  police  mistook  his 
fainting  the  other  night,  when  they  had  the 
audacity  to  drag  him  from  his  bed  to  that 
blamed  mission,  for  some  complicity  in  a 
crime  that  was  committed  there.  Now  if 
you  can't  see  your  way  clear  to  agree  with 

251 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

this  family,  you  have  served,  then  for  God's 
sake,  clean  out,  and  take  the  money  and 
everything  will  be  forgotten." 

"Mr.  Mitchell,"  said  I,  "there  is  grave 
unrest  in  our  country  just  at  present.  It  is 
a  pity  that  so  talented  a  man  as  you  should 
be  using  all  your  talents  to  bring  about  the 
very  thing  you  fight  and  fear." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  gasped  out, 
taken  off  his  guard  for  a  moment.  But 
before  I  could  reply,  he  held  up  his  hand  to 
comand  silence,  and  I  withdrew,  for  the  in 
terview  was  ended. 

A  few  hours  later,  Okagowa  brought  me 
a  message.  Time  was  an  item  now,  and  I 
saw  Mitchell  was  moving  rapidly.  The  note 
that  the  Japanese  boy  gave  me  was  on  a 
soiled  piece  of  wrapping  paper,  hastily 
written  in  pencil,  and  by  an  illiterate  person. 
"Come  to  Post  Office  at  midnight,  Dearborn 
side.  You  will  hear  good  news.  Don't  fail 
to  come."  The  crudity  of  it  was  ludicrous. 
Did  they  really  think  the  workers  were  so 
stupid  after  all? 

"Who  brought  this,  Okagowa?"  I  asked, 

252 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

and  he  answered,  "A  dark  man,  I  think  him 
heap  Dago.  He  call  me  to  back  fence  when 
I  start  for  picture  show,  and  say,  'Give  to 
gardener,  it  bring  him  much  luck.'  " 

I  studied  the  situation.  A  Dago, — Dagoes 
meant  Italians,  and!  they  were  generally 
superstitious.  All  right,  I  would  meet  him, 
and  have  the  matter  over  with. 

The  night  was  very  black,  and  the  hour 
was  twelve-thirty  when  I  arrived  at  the 
Federal  Building.  I  walked  around  the 
entire  block  twice  before  I  met  anyone  who 
appeared  to  be  waiting  for  me.  Then  sud 
denly  I  saw  him.  A  tall  man  standing  on 
the  steps  on  the  Adams  Street  side.  He  was 
far  more  nervous  than  I  was— perhaps  it 
was  his  first  assignment,  I  don't  know.  He 
drew  near  slowly,  and  I  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  Looking  for  the  gardener  so  you  can 
bring  him  luckf '  I  asked  pleasantly. 

The  man  mumbled  something,  and  walked 
along  at  my  side  for  a  minute.  Then  he 
began  to  fall  back  of  me.  I  felt  for  an  object 
that  I  carried  in  my  left  breast  pocket,  and 

253 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  object  was  not  a  pistol,  nor  any  weapon 
that  men  generally  carry.  A  second  or  two 
passed.  The  man  breathed  hard — I  almost 
smiled.  He  was  making  such  hard  work  of 
it,  and  then  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye,  I 
caught  sight  of  a  gleaming  blade,  and  I 
realized  the  hour  had  struck.  Just  as  he 
drew  still  further  back,  as  if  to  give  his  arm 
full  play,  I  fell  forward,  wheeled  around, 
and  flashed  an  illuminated  white  crucifix 
into  the  man's  face.  With  one  scream  he 
dropped  the  knife  and  fled.  I  stooped  and 
picked  up  the  sharp  steel  blade,  and  putting 
it  into  my  pocket,  but  not  the  one  which  held 
the  crucifix,  I  boarded  a  South  bound  car. 


254 


CHAPTER  XII. 

For  a  week  I  lived  under  an  assumed 
name,  in  a  lodging  houre  on  Twenty-second 
street.  The  smoke  of  the  big  manufacturing 
plants  in  that  neighborhood  was  about  all  I 
could  see  from  my  dingy,  dreary  room.  I 
knew  the  man  who  had  been  hired  to  kill 
me  would  report  to  Foster  that  he  had 
done  so,  and  that  things  would  proceed  as 
if  I  were  indeed  securely  out  of  the  way. 

Each  night  I  bought  a  copy  of  the  daily 
paper,  and  the  morning  that  the  trial  was 
to  come  off,  I  washed  and  dressed  carefully, 
and  made  my  way  to  the  court-house.  No 
one  saw  me  as  I  slipped  in  quietly,  and  took 
a  seat  in  the  rear,  after  all  had  assembled. 
Neither  did  anyone  notice  a  little  runt  of  a 
man  whom  I  brought  with  me. 

The  defense  had  hurried  the  trial.  The 
lawyer  engaged  by  Mrs.  Gemble  was  a  man 
grown  rich  on  the  persecutions  of  the  poor. 
He  may  have  called  his  actions  prosecutions. 

255 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HANI) 

They  consisted  in  hounding  starving  girls 
and  women  who  had  asked  for  a  chance  to 
live,  into  the  penitentiary  and  worse. 

Mr.  Meers  was  an  eminent  corporation 
attorney.  He  had  a  real  gift  for  explaining 
to  an  ignorant  public  the  serious  menace 
that  an  unhappy,  hungry,  factory  girl  might 
be  to  a  joyous,  well-fed  community,  and 
should  the  worker,  in  addition  to  her  pov 
erty,  carry  a  union-card,  then  was  she  indeed 
a  dangerous  individual,  and  must  be  dealt 
with  accordingly. 

Mrs,  Gemble  had  lain  the  retaining  fee  on 
his  desk,  and  remarked  flatteringly — "You 
are  the  ablest  man  I  know,  Mr.  Meers.  You 
have  never  failed  to  protect  the  big  business 
interests  of  our  city  from  the  working-class. 
I  know  you  will  see  readily  that  this  girl 
who  was  found  murdered  must  not  in  any 
way  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  the  career  I 
have  mapped  out  for  my  son/'  and  he  who 
had  growrn  fat  and  famous  on  the  broken 
hearts  of  the  gentle  little  factory  girls  whose 
cries  had  now  and  then  displeased  the  gigan 
tic  corporations  for  whom  they  toiled,  smiled 

256 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 


an  oily  smile  and  replied,  "  Leave  it  to  me? 
Mrs.  Gemble,  leave  it  to  me." 

The  private  detectives  reported  that,  now 
that  the  gardener  was  out  of  the  way,  the 
rest  of  the  servants  had  a  perfect  alibi  to 
swear  to,  and  that  it  was  so  absolute,  it 
would  not  even  be  necessary  to  hand-pick 
the  jury — the  less  paid  out  to  others,  the 
more  there  would  be  to  satisfy  their  insatia 
ble  demand. 

Mitchell  had  had  a  very  satisfactory  con 
versation  with  the  prosecuting  attorney.  He 
had  been  most  amenable  to  reason,  especial 
ly  after  the  old  friend  of  the  Gemble  family 
had  carelessly  tossed  a  small  package  on  the 
table  which  stood  between  them.  A  very 
small  package  indeed,  hardly  larger  than  a 
roll  of  fifty-dollar  bills. 

The  judge  too  seemed  to  know  his  busi 
ness.  That  was  the  comfort  of  dealing  with 
people  of  your  own  kind.  They  took  much, 
that  you  might  think  you  had  to  explain, 
for  granted.  Scarcely  any  words  were 
needed  after  the  throwing  down  of  the  little 
packages.  These  were  fairly  magic  in  their 

257 


THE     SYSTEM'S    HAND 

power.  A  hitherto  dark  room  seemed  flooded 
with  sunshine— cool  or  indifferent  manners 
changed  to  warm  and  cordial  ones. 

It  was  just  as  he,  Mr.  Mitchell,  had  so 
often  said.  There  was  a  way  by  which  one 
could  get  anything  on  earth,  at  least  that 
part  of  the  earth,  called  America.  How  de 
lightful  to  join  in  with  the  singing  of  the 
National  Anthem — "The  land  of  the  Free 
and  the  home  of  the  brave,"  or  even  help 
swell  the  chorus  of  "Nearer  My  God  to 
Thee,  Nearer  to  Thee." 

Mr.  Mitchell  thought  that  some  burst  of 
patriotic  or  religious  fervor  was  indeed  the 
only  way  by  which  he  could  express  his 
satisfaction  with  a  land  which  had  yielded 
him  so  bounteous  a  harvest  of  good  things. 
And  out  in  Mount  Greenwood,  the  body  of 
Poppy  lay  beneath  a  mound  of  fresh-piled 
earth.  Poppy,  who  like  the  little  wildflower 
for  whom  she  had  been  named,  was  sweet 
and  fair  and  blameless. 

"Hear  ye,  hear  ye,  hear  ye,"  droned  the 
bailiff.  "The  Court  is  now  in  session,"  and 
the  state,  represented  by  a  deputy  of  the 

258 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

prosecuting  attorney,  a  man  who  had  served 
as  a  law-clerk  for  a  big  firm  of  corporation 
lawyers,  rose  and  presented  the  case.  Ram 
bling  along  about  the  glory  of  Illinois,  and 
how  she  must  ever  rally  to  the  support  of 
the  weak,  touching  upon  many  subjects, 
save  the  one  in  hand,  he  floundered  in  a  sea 
of  words,  and  failed  to  say  anything.  When 
he  took  his  seat,  the  witnesses  were  called, 
and  one  by  one  they  took  their  stand. 

There  was  Jerry  Maloy,  who  testified  to 
the  finding  of  the  body,  and  poor  Earl,  who 
said  he  had  identified  it  as  the  girl  to  whom 
he  was  engaged.  In  every  question  put  to 
him,  there  was  a  subtle  inference  that  he 
probably  knew  more  about  the  killing  than 
anyone  else.  In  the  old  days,  Earl  would 
have  fought  back  and  given  word  for  word, 
but  his  sorrow  had  so  overwhelmed  him  that 
for  the  time  being,  he  was  impervious  to  all 
taunts,  and  replied  to  the  questions  dully, 
and  as  if  his  mind  were  a  great  way  off. 

There  were  a  number  of  Labor  leaders, 
men  who  like  himself  were  trying  to  make 
life  endurable  to  the  toilers,  in  the  crowded 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

court-room  with  him,  but  as  he  took  his  place 
among  them,  I  saw  he  was  scarcely  con 
scious  of  their  presence. 

Some  of  the  girls  who  had  worked  beside 
Poppy  in  the  dingy  little  West  Side  shop 
sat  together  in  a  group  and  cried  softly. 
They  had  sacrificed  a  day's  pay  each  to  be 
here,  and  yet  what  could  they  do?      Helen 
had  been  brought  from  the  orphan  asylum, 
and  I  was  almost  shocked  at  the  change  in 
her  appearance.    White  and  emaciated  in 
the  dark  blue  apron  of  the  institution,  her 
fair  curls  drawn  tightly  back  into  one  stiff 
braid,  she  answered  the  questions  put  to 
her,  and  her  eyes  were  tearless.     She  had 
cried  so  much  that  she  was  now  past  weep 
ing,  and  looking  at  the  child  as  she  stood 
there,  I  realized  that  Helen  would  be  one 
of  those  who  would  have  to  drink  of  the  cup 
till  the  dregs  had  all  been  drained,  in  order 
that  the  shackles  might  fall  off  the  millions 
and  the  millions  who  were  bowed  down  with 
them. 

"Did  you  ever  see  this1  gentleman  be 
fore?"  asked  the  attorney,  indicating  Wal- 

260 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

ton,  and  feeling  sure  the  child  had  been  told 
what  to  say.  And  she  who  had  heard  his 
conversation  with  Poppy  about  the  organ 
and  told  it  to  the  police,  looked  at  the 
defendant  a  moment  and  slowly  shook  her 
head  in  the  negative.  The  detective  had 
threatened  her  with  a  beating  around  for 
the  younger  brothers  and  sister  whom  she 
never  saw  now  if  she  dared  say  yes.  All  the 
expression  had  gone  out  of  her  face.  She 
was  only  twelve,  and  hope  was  dead.  Only 
twelve,  but  alone,  utterly  alone  to  battle 
with  conditions  that  would  as  surely  crush 
the  life  out  of  her  as  a  sinking  ship  must 
go  down  and  down  until  its  topmost  part  is 
lost  from  view. 

The  state  rested  then,  and  the  defense 
began  to  call  its  witnesses.  The  maids 
swore  that  they  had  seen  Walton  Gernble 
ill  in  bed  for  two  days,  and  nights,  previous 
to  the  night  on  which  the  murder  had  been 
committed. 

When  Okagowa  took  the  stand,  he  hesi 
tated  for  an  instant,  then  he  felt  in  his 
pocket  and  fingered  sixty  dollars  which  had 

261 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

been  given  him  in  the  shape  of  three  twenty- 
dollar  bills.  A  cheerful  grin  spread  across 
his  face.  I  knew  of  what  he  was  thinking. 
Okagowa  had  gotten  even  with  the  Melican 
God  at  last. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "Mr.  Walton 
heap  sick  that  night — me  sit  up  with  him 
and  so  me  know." 

Mrs.  Gemble  was  the  last  to  take  the 
stand.  Sitting  surrounded  by  many  of  her 
wealthy  friends,  her  hand  in  Mrs.  Mitchell's 
she  listened  with  an  intolerant  air  to  the 
whole  proceedings.  Now  she  rose  and 
clinched  all  the  testimony  that  her  side  had 
given,  and  the  jury  settled  back  in  their 
seats  to  hear  her  lawyer's  speech. 

Mr.  Meers  had  oratorical  gifts.  He  used 
them  now. 

"Please  your  Honor,  and  Gentlemen  of 
the  Jury,"  he  began,  "there  can  be  only  one 
logical  outcome  of  this  hearing  this  morn 
ing,  and  that  is  a  dismissal  of  the  case  on 
the  grounds  of  insufficient  evidence  to  con 
stitute  a  cause  of  action.  However,  there 
has  been  a  grave  wrong  done  —  a  wound 

262 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

inflicted  that  only  time  can  heal.  Here  we 
see  a  devoted  and  devout  widowed  mother, 
shocked  and  grieved  over  the  accusations 
made  against  her  only  child,  a  lovely  boy, 
a  mere  youth,  who,  though  raised  in  the 
midst  of  luxury,  has  retained  so  unspoiled 
a  nature  that  one  of  the  very  first  things  he 
did,  on  his  return  from  abroad  to  his  native 
land,  was  to  offer  to  teach  in  a  little  mission 
Sunday-School,  located  among  a  most  illit 
erate  and  un-Godly  set  of  men  and  women. 
Is  it  likely  that  a  young  man  so  filled  with 
love  for  his  fellow-men  as  to  cause  himself 
great  personal  inconvenience  in  order  to 
bring  words  of  truth  to  them,  would  ever  be 
capable  of  a  crime  so  revolting  as  the  one 
we  have  been  forced  to  consider?  No,  Your 
Honor,  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  it  is  not. 
Walton  Gremble,  lying  sick  in  his  bed  at  his 
mother's  home,  is  as  innocent  of  murder  as 
I  am."  Here  he  coughed  and  took  a  glass 
of  water.  "And  though  my  young  client 
here  is  not  the  one  whom  the  law  seeks,  I 
might  add  that  the  real  criminal  ought  not 
to  be  very  hard  to  find.  This  unfortunate 

263 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

girl  had  many  strange  acquaintances — she 
frequented  meetings  in  the  company  of  the 
man  who  claims  he  intended  to  marry  her; 
meetings  that  we  all  know  to  be  of  an  in 
cendiary  nature.  It  has  been  my  unhappy 
experience  to  see  some  thing  of  that  side 
of  life  where  the  working-class  congregate 
into  what  they  call  their  unions,  and  dis 
covering  that  this  unfortunate  girl,  found 
murdered  in  the  basement  of  a  little  Chris 
tian  Mission,  was  a  member  of  one  of  these 
bodies,  some  of  them  being  most  desperate 
in  their  teachings,  I  am  not  really  surprised 
at  her  untimely  end.  Understand  me,  I  am 
accusing  no  one,  but  as  you  all  have  seen, 
the  blame  does  not  rest  on  this  young  boy, 
and  quite  naturally  we  ask  the  question — 
'Who  is  the  man,  and  where  are  we  to  look 
for  him?'  Mr.  Meers  went  on  at  some 
length  in  the  same  strain,  and  when  he  felt 
satisfied  that  everyone  was  impressed  with 
what  a  brilliant  lawyer  he  was,  and  how 
there  was  not  a  particle  of  real  evidence 
that  pointed  to  the  guilt  of  Walton  Gemble, 
he  took  another  glass  of  water  and  sat  down. 

264 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Mrs.  Gemble  gave  him  a  smile  of  complete 
satisfaction,  and  pressed  Mrs.  Mitchell's 
hand.  Her  friends  leaned  towards  her,  and 
told  her  not  to  worry,  the  ordeal  would  soon 
be  over  now.  Mitchell  glanced  at  Walton, 
who  sat  with  bowed  head  and  his  thin  lips 
curved  into  a  cruel  smile.  Just  as  he  had 
said7  the  trial  had  cost  him  very  dear,  but 
then  every  fresh  illustration  of  the  fact  that 
money  rules  was  precious  to  him,  for  he  had 
so  much  money  and  that  meant  he  had 
so  much  power. 

The  judge  turned  to  the  prosecuting  at 
torney's  deputy  and  asked  if  he  had  any 
evidence  in  rebuttal.  The  latter  mumbled 
something  about  "character  witnesses "  and 
glanced  over  at  the  group  of  Poppy's  fellow- 
workers  who  had  been  promised  a  chance  to 
testify  of  what  they  knew  concerning  the 
sweet  girl  with  whom  they  had  toiled,  and 
whom  they  all  had  grown  to  love. 

The  judge  frowned.  "There  is  no  ques 
tion  of  character  involved, "  he  said  sharply. 
' '  I  can 't  allow  a  waste  of  time.  Is  that  all  ? ' ' 

But  the  deputy  never  answered,  for  at 

265 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

this  moment,  I  rose  from  my  chair  in  the 
back  of  the  hall,  where  no  one  had  noticed 
me,  and  walked  quietly  to  the  front  and 
inside  the  railing.  "If  it  pleases  the  court," 
said  I,  "I  have  been  unavoidably  detained, 
and  as  a  witness  for  the  state,  I  desire  to 
be  sworn  in." 

A  breathless  silence  followed  my  appear 
ance.  Then  Earl  leaned  forward  and  mur 
mured  "Stevey,"  but  I  didn't  look  at  him, 
I  looked  at  Mr.  Mitchell.  I  wanted  to  see  a 
czar  crumple.  I  think  the  man  thought  for 
a  moment  that  it  was  my  ghost  which  stood 
there  and  not  a  man  of  flesh  and  blood  at  all. 
Hadn't  he  been  told  that  my  body  was  at 
the  bottom  of  the  lake? 

Hadn't  his  hireling  reported  that  I  was 
stabbed  and  weighted  and  that  he  and  his 
friends  had  seen  to  it  that  I  was  safely  de 
posited  in  a  deep  place  in  the  water?  Wasn't 
that  what  he  paid  his  money  for?  Had  I 
come  back  from  the  dead  to  accuse  him,  as 
well  as  his  son,  of  murder?  Had  I  come  to 
tell  of  the  enormous  bribes  which  he  had 
offered  me  to  get  out  and  keep  still? 

266 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Suddenly  everyone  started  to  talk,  and 
the  judge  rapped  loudly  for  order.  In  an 
austere  voice,  he  directed  that  I  should  be 
sworn  in,  and  then  said  to  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  " Proceed  with  the  witness/' 

The  latter  asked,  "What  is  your  full 
name?" 

"Stephen  Angus  Doyle." 

"Your  occupation?" 

"I  am  a  detective." 

Mrs,  Gemble  gave  a  little  shriek  and  very 
nearly  swooned. 

"Do  you  understand  about  this  case?" 

"I  do  thoroughly." 

"Then  go  ahead  and  tell  what  you  know." 
Why  should  they  care,  hadn't  they  done  all 
they  had  been  told  to  do,  and  the  introduc 
tion  of  a  new  element  was  not  their  business. 
Mrs.  Gemble  should  have  seen  to  it  that  the 
coast  was  clear. 

"If  it  please  your  Honor,"  said  I,  "there 
are  some  family  introductions  that  I  will 
have  to  make,  so  as  to  clean  up  this  case  as 
it  should  be  cleaned." 

267 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

"Family  introductions,"  echoed  the 
deputy. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "this  murderer  ought  to 
meet  his  father  before  the  judge  sentences 
him." 

I  turned  to  Walton.  "Mr.  Gemble,  per 
mit  me  to  introduce  your  father,  Mr.  Mit 
chell." 

The  boy  stared  in  stupid  amazement,  but 
the  man  became  deathly  pale.  He  rose  and 
tried  to  stammer  something,  but  no  sound 
came  from  his  white  lips.  He  took  a  step 
forward,  then  sank  back  into  his  chair,  a 
frightened  old  man.  All  the  bravado  was 
gone.  Everything  was  gone  for  him.  His 
house  of  cards  had  tumbled  down  about  his 
ears.  The  judge  leaned  over  towards  him. 

"Is  this  man  Doyle  speaking  the  truth?" 
he  asked,  in  an  excited  tone. 

Mitchell  nodded.    He  was  past  speaking. 

"And  now,"  said  I,  "another  little  rela 
tionship  must  be  established.  Mrs.  Gremble, 
do  you  recall  your  long-lost  husband?"  The 
shabby  drawfed  figure  by  the  door  shuffled 
forward.  The  woman  screamed  and  put  out 

268 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

her  hand,  from  force  of  habit,  to  Mrs.  Mit 
chell,  but  the  later  had  withdrawn.  Looking 
at  her  husband  as  if  she  could  kill  him,  Mrs. 
Mitchell  sat  breathing  heavily,  glancing 
scornfully  now  and  then  towards  the  woman 
who  had  so  long  been  his  mistress  and  whom 
she  had  accepted  as  her  best  friend.  Her 
world  was  crumbling  to  pieces  before  her 
very  eyes.  These  things  that  were  happen 
ing,  that  had  happened  all  along,  were  they 
a  part  of  the  exclusive  ruling  class?  The 
class  that  had  been  able  to  buy  anything? 
Such  sordid  revelations  as  this  man  on  the 
stand  was  making  belonged  to  the  working 
class,  the  toilers  that  she  had  ever  likened 
unto  beasts,  but  now?  In  the  meanwhile, 
the  shabby,  dwarfed  man  stood  waiting  until 
society  could  catch  its  breath.  He  was  used 
to  waiting. 

The  judge  was  plainly  much  perturbed. 
Bed  tape  was  dispensed  with.  He  asked 
sharply  of  the  man  whom  I  had  brought  with 
me.  "are  you  the  husband  of  Mrs,  Gemble?" 

"I  am,"  replied  the  man  quietly. 

"Prove  it." 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

He  took  from  an  inside  pocket  a  marriage 
certificate  dating  back  twenty  years  or 
more,  and  showed  it  to  the  judge. 

"And  your  name?" 

"Peter  Gremble,"  said  the  man,  finishing 
the  sentence. 

Then,  turning  to  me,  the  man  on  the  bench 
said,  "Proceed." 

"This  man,  Peter  Gremble,"  said  I,  "was 
hired  by  Mitchell  to  marry  the  present  Mrs. 
Gremble.  She  was  about  to  give  birth  to  his, 
Mitchell's,  child,  and  he  thought  that  in  this 
way,  she  was  off  his  hands.  But  it  seems 
the  woman  had  as  shrewd  a  sense  of  business 
as  he  has  demonstrated.  She  waited  until 
he  had  married  a  wealthy  society  girl  and 
was  getting  a  firm  foothold  in  the  corpora 
tion  that  has  since  became  famous,  and  then 
she  started  a  systematic  course  of  blackmail 
that  has  enabled  her  to  live  in  luxury  all 
these  years." 

Everybody  gasped,  except  those  involved 
in  the  disclosures — they  seemed  to  sink 
down  into  their  chairs  lower  and  lower. 
Walton  was  trembling  visibly,  and  he  passed 

270 


THE     SYSTEM'S    HAND 

his  hand  around  his  neck,  inside  the  collar, 
nervously,  as  if  he  already  felt  a  rope  there. 
Peter  was  still  standing  patiently  waiting 
to  be  dismissed.  The  judge  turned  to  him 
irritably. 

"You  can  go.  But  wait,  why  did  you 
never  come  forward  before  and  tell  these 
things  ?" 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I've 
been  busy.  I  had  to  make  a  living,  but 
anyway,  I  made  it  honestly.  I'm  a  dish- 
wa4ier  in  a  restaurant." 

The  judge  rapped  for  attention.  "This  is 
a  most  unusual  state  of  affairs/'  said  he, 
"However,  we  are  concerned  only  with  the 
case  of  the  murder  of  this  young  girl.  If 
you,  Mr.  Doyle,  have  anything  to  say  about 
that,  we  will  hear  you.  If  not,  you  are 
excused." 

"I  have  things  to  say,"  said  I. 

The  deputy  of  the  prosecuting  attorney 
then  began  at  the  beginning,  and  asked  me 
again  my  name  and  occupation,  To  the 
latter  question,  I  replied,  "I  have  been 
working  as  a  gardener  for  Mrs.  Q-emble  for 

271 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  past  few  months.  Along  with  the  other 
servants,  I  was  approached  by  private  oper 
atives,  hired  by  Mitchell,  and  told  to  repeat 
the  alibi  the  maids  of  the  household  have 
just  sworn  to,  each  one  of  course  was  ade 
quately  compensated." 

Mr.  Meers,  from  force  of  habit,  started 
to  r-)ake  some  objection,  but  he  was  so  near 
de?d,  legally,  that  he  Iiad  not  the  will  to 
interpose  a  word.  He  looked  at  his  crushed 
clients,  entirely  deserted  now  by  all  their 
fashionable  friends,  and  he  began  putting 
some  papers  together  as  if  he,  too,  would 
soon  take  his  leave. 

"  Where  were  you  on  the  night  of  May 
29th?" 

"In  my  room  above  the  garage,  and  I 
heard  Walton  Gemble  drive  his  car  in  at 
about  half  past  four  on  the  morning  of  the 
30th,  his  assumed  sickness  dates  from  that 
time." 

Walton  sprang  up,  his  face  livid,  but  he 
was  unable  to  utter  a  sound  and  sank  back 
in  his  chair,  his  hands  twisting  frightfully. 

"That   day,"   I   continued,    quietly,   "I 

272 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

called  early  at  the  home  of  Miss  Poppy 
Grant — she  was  a  friend  of  mine,  as  is  the 
man  she  was  to  marry,  and  the  little  orphans 
whom  she  had  taken  in  and  cared  for,  told 
me  that  she  had  not  been  home  all  night. 
We  were  all  of  us  going  to  spend  the  holiday 
in  a  Park;  instead,  we  spent  it  searching 
vainly  for  the  missing  girl.  It  was  not  until 
the  third  day  after  her  disappearance  that 
I  got  a  clue  as  to  the  murderer.  On  that 
day,  this  little  child  Helen  happened  to  men 
tion  the  Mission  Sunday-School  which  they 
had  started  to  attend,  and  Low  the  position 
of  organist  had  been  offered  to  Poppy  by 
the  Sunday-School  superintendent,  and  how 
she  had  intended  to  stop  by  there  some  night 
after  her  work  was  done  and  make  arrange 
ments.  That  night,  I  went  to  the  mission 
and  found  the  body." 

Another  exclamation,  and  a  look  of  under 
standing  on  Earl's  face. 

"But,"  cried  the  deputy,  "the  body  was 
found  by  a  messenger  named  Jerry  Maloy." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "I  sent  for  Jerry,  and  told 
him  where  it  was." 

273 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

Here  the  boy  was  questioned,  and  after 
he  corroborated  my  testimony,  I  continued, 
"This  cigarette  case  with  Walton  Gamble's 
initials  on  it,  which  I  found  dropped  beside 
the  body,  would  have  been  proof  enough  of 
his  guilt,  had  I  not  also  heard  his  mother 
telling  him  that  he  must  go  down  to  the  mis 
sion  and  teach  Sunday-School  there  whether 
he  wanted  to  or  not.  He  rather  strenuously 
objected." 

I  paused,  and  the  deputy  took  the  gold 
case  and  examined  it  v/hile  Walton  shook 
and  muttered  to  himself. 

The  judge  then  turned  to  the  lawyer  for 
the  defense  and  asked,  "Have  you  anything 
to  say  to  refute  the  testimony  of  this  man?" 
and  Attorney  Meers  replied,  after  holding 
a  whispered  consultation  with  his  clients, 
' '  No,  your  Honor. ' ' 

Then  the  judge  replied,  "I'm  to  conclude, 
then,  that  the  testimony  of  this  man  Doyle 
is  positively  true?  and  it  frees  my  hands, 
and  I  can  instruct  the  jury  accordingly?" 
Then  turning  to  me,  he  said?  "On  behalf  of 
the  jury  and  this  Court  and  the  judiciary  of 

274 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

the  State  of  Illinois,  I  offer  you  my  sincere 
thanks.  You  are  excused." 

Addressing  the  twelve  silent  men  who  had 
been  listening  to  everything,  he  instructed 
them  briefly.  They  retired  and  returned  in 
less  than  twenty  minutes,  but  during  that 
period  of  suspense,  I  sat  with  folded  arms 
and  looked  about  me.  On  one  side  of  the 
court-room  were  the  representatives  of  that 
minority  which  had  for  so  long  reigned,  and 
in  their  blanched  and  quivering  faces,  full  of 
lust  and  full  of  greed,  full  of  cruelty,  full  of 
fear,  I  read  the  signs  of  their  departure;  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  where  Justice 
is  supposed  to  be  dispensed,  I  saw  the  fore 
runners  of  that  majority  which  has  for  so 
long  been  oppressed,  and  in  the  faces  of  Earl 
and  the  Labor  Leaders  who  surrounded  him, 
faces  full  of  suffering,  full  of  hope,  I  read 
the  signs  of  their  oncoming,  and  saw  the 
dawning  of  a  great  New  Day. 

For  myself,  I  thought  "The  System's 
Hand"  is  leprous  now.  The  claw-Eke  fin 
gers  soon  will  lose  their  strength.  Already 
the  flesh  is  yellow,  and  the  spots  of  decay 

275 


THE    SYSTEM'S    HAND 

can  be  seen.  The  foreman  of  the  jury  was 
speaking.  I  turned  my  eyes  from  contem 
plation  of  the  future  of  America,  and  sighed 
for  the  little  lovely  girl,  the  child  of  the 
common  people  who  had  had  to  die  that 
others  after  her  might  live. 

"If  it  please  your  Honor,"  the  foreman 
was  saying,  "we  find  the  defendant  Walton 
Gemble  guilty  as  charged  in  the  indict 
ment.  " 


276 


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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50m-5,'70(N6725s8)45S-  A  :M/r> 


N?  826315 


Jones,  M.T. 

The  system's  hand, 


PS3519 

OU6 

S8 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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